


Klepto

by DeGlace



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crack Pairing, F/M, Slow Burn, a whole hell of a lot of unresolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:46:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 74,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeGlace/pseuds/DeGlace
Summary: He is domineering, brutal, and used to getting his way. She is cool, detached, and completely irreverent. Unsurprisingly, they don't really get along. Bane x Selina Kyle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a relatively light fic written purely for my own amusement after having watched TDKR again. It is very much an A/U that plays fast and loose with movie timelines and plot points. Among countless omissions and modifications, I have notably excised the character of Talia.
> 
> I have not read any Batman fics so I apologize in advance for any tiresome/overused tropes that I may have indulged in.
> 
> Finally, please be aware that I enjoy (very) slow burn fics, and I enjoy open-ended fics. You have been warned.

Selina doesn't make mistakes often. This one costs her.

Contrary to her initial appraisal, the six men who come after her are not common brawlers and thugs, but highly skilled combatants. And so, much to her disgust, they overpower her. She does give them a little bit of trouble, though – breaks some fingers and smashes some noses, and at least two of them will be walking funny for the next little while.

She should lose the cute "Cat" moniker and just go by Ballcrusher. It's more badass.

And so here she is. Selina Kyle, the great jewel thief, tied to a chair in an underground room, flanked by two goons, waiting for something to happen.

Well, she was tied to the chair until about thirty seconds ago, because, let's be honest, there are very few men in the world who can make a knot that Selina can't untie, and these are not those men.

Selina tilts her head casually to the left, then to the right, sizing up her captors. She is just about ready to leap up and smash together their heads when the door opens.

The hulking silhouette of a man fills the doorway, backlit by the dim hall behind him. Selina scans the figure with a practiced eye: at first glance he looks like a creatine-ridden meathead, but his movements belie that impression. He is confident and quite fluid in his motions. So not a complete meathead. She will be careful.

"Hi," says Selina as the man comes to a halt in front of her.

Selina always likes to have the first word. And the last one. It's kind of a problem sometimes.

She cocks her head and smiles prettily at the man despite the slow trickle of blood running from her freshly-split eyebrow down to her mouth.

"Selina Kyle?" asks the man.

His voice is odd, filtered to something robotic through the black mask on his face, tinged with a foreign accent.

Selina takes in the man's stance, his boots planted into the floor a touch wider than they need to be, his hands tucked into the collar of his armoured vest, and his eyes, surprisingly bright with intelligence despite his brutish appearance.

"Depends," says Selina. "Do I owe you money?"

The men at her side flinch as though her irreverent tone is physically painful. This worries Selina a bit; perhaps they are just cowardly brown-nosers, or perhaps they know something she doesn't.

The man on her left speaks up. "This is Bane. Gotham's… liberator. You have no doubt heard of him."

"... Liberator?" repeats Selina, accompanying the question with the delicate twitch of an eyebrow.

Mockery is thick in her tone, which appears to displease Leftie. He gives her shoulder a cruel squeeze. Selina decides that she will break his nose on his colleague's forehead in a moment. In the meantime, she turns her head and places her lips softly on the back of his hand.

"Don't squeeze so hard," she whispers. "It hurts."

Leftie pulls his hand back in surprise. Selina mouths a small kiss in his direction.

"Enough," says Rightie, giving her a shake of his own.

"Agreed," says Selina. Her hands are free, she stands, and Leftie's nose makes close acquaintance with Rightie's forehead. They really hit it off well. The crunch is audible, and both men fall dazedly to the floor.

The Bane guy has not moved. He seems utterly unsurprised, in fact, which annoys Selina just a little.

"Saw that coming, hm?" asks Selina as she casually rids herself of the remaining bits of rope around her wrists.

"Yes," answers Bane. His tone throws her off – it is almost cheerful.

"Why didn't you warn them?"

"Ineptitude is rewarded with punishment. It was deserved."

Selina pauses and looks at him carefully.

"I like that," she says. She shifts herself so that the chair is between them. It is a worthless barrier, in truth, but may suffice as a split-second distraction when the time comes.

Selina eyes the door, then the large figure between herself and the door. Her instincts are afire with the desire to get away. Her gut tells her there is something highly dangerous about this man. And yet he has done absolutely nothing so far, except get on her nerves by breathing loudly. Selina does not like it one bit.

She places an elbow on each corner of the chair's back and leans forward nonchalantly. It's a provocative pose, offering what she knows is a breathtaking view of Gotham's finest cleavage. Selina is impressed: Bane's eyes move downwards towards her chest with the barest, briefest flicker. So, self-control is another of his assets. Interesting.

One of the men on the ground stirs. Selina silences him with a heel to the temple and turns her attention back to Bane.

There is no reaction whatsoever to her cursory concussing of his goon. So interesting.

"So what can I do for you, Bane?" asks Selina. Casual. Like they're just having coffee. Not like she was just kidnapped and is now a little worried.

"I am looking for the one that calls himself the Batman," says Bane.

Selina is well-practiced in keeping her expression neutral, which serves her well in the face of this bizarre request.

"Are you?" asks Selina. "Why?"

"I would like to… meet him," says Bane. His words are slow, measured, and careful, coloured with that unusual accent.

Selina shrugs. "He hasn't been seen in almost a decade. I can't help you."

Bane tilts his head to one side, contemplating her. The sound of his calm, filtered breathing grates on Selina, because she herself is not calm, despite her unconcerned appearance.

"The Batman will make a reappearance in the near future. And when he does… he is a vigilante, you are a thief. He will find you, or someone else who moves in your… circles. You will bring him to me."

Orders. Selina does not take orders except from her late mother – god rest her shrivelled, crazy soul – and her stomach.

She plays with an escaped strand of hair, girlishly, playfully, as she counts the paces between herself and the door. The problem is this large _thing_ in the way.

"Bring him to you?" Selina makes an unconvinced moue. "What's in it for me?"

"Whatever you desire," says Bane with a sweep of his hand, as if he could offer her the world at large. She tries to place the accent, those longer final vowels, those vanishing R's… _whateva you desiah_. Not Irish, not quite British…

The man seems to take her silence for thoughts relating to his initial question. "What do you desire, Ms. Kyle? Money?"

Selina laughs and the merry sound of it echoes incongruously in this dim place. "Don't kid yourself. You can't afford me."

This Bane guy does not like to be laughed at. Selina sees it in the minute contraction of his eyebrows, the only expressive part of his mostly covered face.

He moves towards her, unexpectedly fast, and Selina knows that she has successfully pissed him off. They dance for a few moments as Selina circles with him, keeping two feet between them but wishing it was five. Those arms are going to have some serious reach.

Oh yes, they do have serious reach, as Selina discovers as she is backed into the wall, one of Bane's large hands on her neck.

Selina holds very still, her black-booted toes barely touching the floor.

"You have decided not to name terms, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. "Very well. I am going to make you a very reasonable offer."

His breathing and speech are just as controlled as ever, not remotely marred by his exertion.

"I am offering you your life in exchange for this... favour. Is this not just?"

Bane's mask is directly in front of Selina's face. The network of vertical grey tubes make it look like the maw of some mechanical monster. In the silence that follows his question, Selina hears his breathing hiss through the mask. A puff of a medicinal smell tickles her nose. Heavy camphor. Acrid menthol. Cold wintergreen.

The tiniest smile lifts the corners of Selina's mouth. She has quick hands, and thanks to those hands there is now a viciously sharp blade pressed against Bane's groin. He notices. He is not stupid enough to crush her throat and cause her to spasm. He knows what kind of damage she could inflict at this angle. She would die, certainly, but not without castrating him first.

They lock eyes. He is surprised and annoyed, she is pissed off and shocked and – admittedly – quite frightened.

The men on the floor are groaning. Selina does not like it – this precarious stalemate is about to end, and she is going to be on the losing side. Bane knows that she knows it. She twitches the blade; he tightens his grip.

"Fine," hisses Selina with the last of her breath. "I'll bring him to you."

Bane holds her just long enough to worry her, then releases her. Once he has backed off sufficiently, Selina pulls the blade away, but keeps it readily within reach.

"This is going to bruise," says Selina, touching gently at her throat. She gives Bane a reproachful look. "I usually do the bruising."

Bane looks at her with something akin to pity, which Selina does not appreciate at all.

"Things are going to be... different in Gotham, Ms. Kyle. You should get used to the idea."

"And what exactly do you hope to achieve in Gotham?" asks Selina with interest that is mostly feigned. (Mostly, she is wondering if she could throw a knife into his eye and deep into his brain from this distance, and not miss.)

"Gotham's... reckoning," coughs out one of the thugs on the floor.

He is deadly serious, and Bane looks deadly serious, so Selina decides not to burst into hysterical laughter at this grandiose proclamation.

"If you say so," she says with a passably straight face.

VVVVV

Selina makes up for her undignified entrance to Bane's sewer hideout with a far more elegant exit. Mostly because anything is more elegant than being carried in with a sack over her head.

She is escorted out by Rightie, whose forehead is blossoming into a magnificent lump, and who, for some reason, seems to dislike her. Selina can't imagine why. Rightie is a big black guy, bald, equipped now with an assault rifle as he leads her out. Selina keeps pace with him and accidentally nudges him with a hip now and then. He is visibly irritated with her.

As they walk, Selina takes in every detail of the place and commits it to memory. This and that winding passage, this open area, guards leaning discreetly in shadowy corners… Selina makes a map. Not only a visual map but an olfactory one – she takes in the old-water whiffs here and there of storm drains, the more potent odours of open sewage emanating from certain tunnels, the occasional hints of cleaner air that indicate potential exit routes.

"So what do they call you?" asks Selina as the silence grows long and Rightie's irritation with her grows with it.

He ignores her.

"No name? Or do you have a hardcore name like this Bane guy?"

"It's Farad," says Rightie with a hint of exasperation. Another vaguely foreign accent she can't quite place. Middle-eastern? Persian?

Farad fingers the lump on his forehead and looks murderously at her. Selina made the mistake of underestimating Bane's men once and she will not do it again. In a group of six, they were too much for her. Well trained with excellent teamwork. But by themselves… she could take this one, one on one, no problem. He doesn't know that. She'll keep it that way for now.

"Nice to meet you, Farad," says Selina sweetly. "And don't be too grumpy with me. From what I remember, you're the one who redecorated my eyebrow. I kind of owed you a lovetap."

He gives her a hard look, then looks away. Point conceded, then.

Selina waits for Farad to focus on the passage ahead once more and pockets the wad of cash that she plucked from his pocket a moment before. It joins the piece of paper she stole from Bane when he made the mistake of getting up close and personal with her earlier.

The sound of rushing water begins to fill Selina's ears as they continue down the passage, angling downwards. They walk on until their progress is halted by a large grate. On the other side, Gotham's city lights glimmer in the springtime night. Freedom.

Farad fishes a key out of his pocket and fiddles with an enormous lock on the grate. Selina spares the lock a cursory glance. It is an uncomplicated thing. She will have it picked in two minutes if she needs to.

As Farad fusses about with the padlock, water swirls around their ankles, emptying itself in a torrent beyond the grate. The grate swings open just when Selina is about to offer to unlock it herself, sans key.

"This is where you will bring the Batman," says Farad. "No signal necessary. The sentries will see you and alert us. You will bring him down the central passage to the big room we passed. The one with the pillars."

"Understood," says Selina.

Farad all but pushes her beyond the grate and slams it shut behind her.

Adorably, he locks it up carefully and puts away the key. Selina could pet him.

"Goodbye, Farad," she says with a smile.

She looks at him over her shoulder and knows she's beautiful right now, backlit by the moon and Gotham's lights, water swirling musically around her. He pauses for a moment to look at her, confirming this, and turns away without a word.

Selina smirks to herself as she clambers out of the water and onto shore. They're all the same. She probably has a good ten or fifteen years left of this beauty, and she takes advantage of it as much as she can. After that, well – given her current lifestyle, she will probably be dead.

Selina takes careful note of the grate's location and that of the sentries who are hiding ("hiding") cleverly ("cleverly") behind some enormous hunks of broken concrete. She waves cheerily at them as she walks away. Two have good self-control and do not move, the third flinches in surprise at being sighted and ducks uselessly.

As Selina makes her way away from the industrial wasteland where the storm overflow grate belches its contents, the confident swagger in her step disappears.

Tonight was not a good night for her. Number one, she was caught and manhandled by a bunch of clowns and dragged forcibly to a place she did not want to go to. That never happens to her. Number two, she was outmaneuvered a man, one who by all appearances should have moved like a lumbering beast, but was on the contrary fast, fierce, and strong. That also never happens to her. And number three, she had her life threatened and she genuinely believes in the threat. She is afraid down to her core. This also never happens to her. Because, despite being the Cat, Selina is anything but a pussy.

The industrial zone falls behind and Gotham's familiar buildings begin to rise around Selina as she walks. She heads for the nearest sushi joint because she is hungry and angry. Farad's pickpocketed cash will pay for dinner.

It's just past midnight – closing time for the little sushi place on 47th Street, but the small Japanese lady who owns the place recognizes Selina and lets her in. Selina perches herself on one of the high stools at the bar and asks to be served whatever is freshest. The prep for the next day's lunch rush becomes her supper, and it is good. Salmon, tuna, shrimp, eel. Lots of wasabi. No rice, no rolls – carbs are for fatties.

Selina is not a nice person.

She leaves the entire roll of cash that she lifted from Farad as payment for her dinner. There's probably a few grand in there, if not more.

So maybe sometimes she can be a nice person.

The little Japanese lady bows and bows her thanks and tries to give the cash back, but Selina waves it away. There's more where that came from. Probably. Or maybe it was Farad's life savings. Who knows. Who cares.

The walk home takes double the time, because home is a safe place for Selina and she does not want to be followed there. Her instincts tell her she is being watched, but she cannot ferret out or lose the watcher despite a convoluted series of backtracks and random turns. So instead she heads to home number 2, one of a few decoy apartments scattered throughout the city. It is a fully-furnished apartment she rents under an assumed name (she forgets what, some feline pun).

Selina enters home number 2, an apartment in an older building, turns on a light, and very obviously and openly changes into pyjamas in full view of the window. Then she switches off the light. Instead of going to bed, however, she pulls her catsuit back on and exits the apartment through the kitchen window on the other side of the building.

Her suit is black because black cats are bad luck to all but themselves. And someone is about to have very bad luck.

Selina pulls herself to the roof of the building with practiced ease and it is her turn to become the hunter. A male figure retreats in the shadows on the street below. Having seen her enter the building and get ready for bed, his job done, he is now heading home.

Selina follows him from the rooftops for a few streets. At one point, in the shadows between two streetlights, the figure bends down.

She hears the low sounds of a manhole cover being moved. So it is one of Bane's sewer rats who was tailing her.

Selina drops down to street level and creeps up behind the man. The grinding sound of the heavy manhole cover masks her already quiet footsteps. She takes in the man's slight build, his wiry frame, the gun at his hip.

"Boo," she says when the man straightens up to take a breath.

He startles but, to his credit, immediately draws his weapon.

"I don't think so," says Selina, kicking the gun out of his hand.

They grapple. He is less well trained than the bunch that came before. A spy and a sneak, then – not a fighter. Selina sweeps his legs from under him and he lands on his back. His head hits the pavement, hard.

He is dazed and barely struggles as Selina pulls his hands above his head. She lifts the manhole cover and drops it onto his hands. The man does not cry out, though the pain must be significant. Selina is impressed. Where is Bane getting these guys?

Selina stands on the manhole cover, further crushing the man's hands and keeping him in place.

She squats down and looks at his upside-down face, brushing his hair out of the way with a soft touch. "Before you go back to your hole, give Bane a message for me. I will do what he asked. But I won't be followed around. The next of his rats that I catch following me, I kill. You understand?"

The man nods. His face is impassive, impressively so, considering that his fingers are being crushed by 150 pounds of iron and all of Selina's body weight. He has the same tanned complexion and light eyes as others in Bane's group.

Selina touches his face gently, like a lover. "I like to play with my kills. And I will remember your face. So mind it isn't you I see next time, or – well, I'll have a lot of fun with you."

The sneak's mouth firms into a line and he nods again.

Selina gets up and tosses his gun into the open sewer. She considers throwing him in after it, but figures he can make his own way down, and possibly keep his skull more intact that way.

She vanishes into the shadows and makes her way towards home number 3. It has been a long night and she craves sleep. This time, there is nobody following her.

At least, she thinks so.


	2. Chapter 2

The piece of paper that Selina swiped from Bane is a mystery. She studies it in the morning light as she lounges in her bed.

The paper is marked with a scattered collection of letters and numbers with occasional lines connecting them all together. It looks vaguely scientific – not that Selina would know, really. She spent her high school science classes daydreaming about killing the teacher. When she was actually in school, that is, and not incarcerated in a women's penitentiary.

Selina has a friend in the PhD program at Gotham U's chemistry department. Pamela Isley. Selina likes her; her sense of humour is just poisonous.

She sends Pamela a photo of the paper accompanied by a brief line of text.

_SK: Puzzle. Help me?_

_PI: Where'd you get this?_

_SK: Found it._

_PI: Liar._

_SK: Just tell me what it means. I'll take you out for Greek later._

_PI: You pay._

_SK: Fine._

_PI: It's a formula for an anaesthetic. Analgesic gas, actually._

_PI: Like, ridiculously strong._

_PI: Couple milliliters could knock out a horse._

_PI: Is this a new street drug or something?_

_SK: Something like that._

_PI: Well tell them to be careful. This stuff is potent. Could kill someone._

_PI: Actually, don't tell them. Less hobos panhandling and shit._

_SK: Noted. Greek on Tuesday?_

Selina breaks into Pamela's office that night and leaves her a gorgeous and expensive bouquet of orchids as a thank you, because Pamela loves flowers.

So the rumours about Bane's mask may be true. Selina has heard that he uses it to keep painkillers in his system. Painkillers to combat the pain from what, though? Is his face a nasty mess of skinless flesh below the mask? Does he have a nose? A mouth? Selina's thoughts keep her morbidly occupied, imagining the possibilities.

She wonders if Bane has missed the paper yet. Apparently, it was kind of important.

Oopsie.

VVVVV

Selina has always been a light sleeper. A useful quality, especially in moments like these, when a man is stealthily opening her bedroom door in the dead of night.

She keeps her breathing regular and listens to the sounds of the man moving closer, those soft sounds of cloth on cloth that no one can quite mask no matter their stealth.

She catches a whiff of a medicinal smell and hears the distinctive slow breathing all at once.

She did wonder when she would be hearing from him again.

"Hi Bane," says Selina. The words are husky, as she just woke up – perfect, hides the tremor in her voice.

Her heart wants to escape her chest but apparently her ribs are in the way.

She hears Bane stop. With a long, languid stretch, Selina turns around. Bane is standing at the foot of her bed, wearing a bulletproof vest over a black shirt and his apparently perennial cargo pants. His hands are hooked into the collar of the vest – Selina is not sure if this is just for comfort's sake, or because it makes his arms look even bigger. If it is the latter, it is working. Holy bulk, Batman.

"You have no security system, Ms. Kyle," says Bane by way of greeting. "An interesting decision for a burglar."

That queer amplified voice. It gives Selina the creeps.

"I know from experience how useless they are," says Selina with a sleepy smile, not permitting a single iota of her discomfort to show in her behaviour or her voice.

She yawns widely in Bane's face and props her elbows on her knees. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"Two nights ago, one of my men came back to me with broken hands."

"Oh _my_ ," says Selina, holding her fingers delicately over her lips. "That sounds terrible. Who could have done such a thing?"

Bane loosens one hand from his collar and makes a dismissive gesture. "I am not here to avenge him. It was a... just punishment for incompetence. He no longer serves me."

Bane moves to the side of the bed and looks down at Selina. She tenses, ready to vault up and away.

He sits on the edge of Selina's bed, slowly, either trying not to spook her, or trying to lull her into a sense of security. His calmness has absolutely the opposite effect. All of Selina's senses and instincts are lit. She is counting the steps to the door, to the gun in her desk drawer, assessing his profile, the hugeness of the arm nearest her, the broadness of his over-muscled back, the ways he could hurt her from where he is right now.

He frightens her. Selina waits, a slingshot ready to fly – but Bane does not move beyond placing his hands slowly and deliberately on his knees.

"This broken-handed man came back to me delivering a threat," says Bane. Threat. The word is said with a breathy hiss through the mask.

Selina tilts her head, the picture of innocent curiosity. "Oh?"

"He told me the Cat sent a message. That she would kill any more rats I sent after her."

"That does sound a bit like me," says Selina with a crooked, only slightly rueful, smile.

"I therefore decided to come in person," says Bane. "With my query."

"Query?"

"Yes. I believe you have stolen something of mine," says Bane. He turns to look directly at Selina. His eyes are cold and penetrating all at once.

"Did I?" says Selina with a sad face. "Your heart?"

Bane's eyes narrow a fraction and Selina smiles.

"I am a patient man, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. "To an extent. But in a moment I am going to hurt you. Badly."

He is not bluffing. Selina hears his breathing accelerate a touch. Hers does as well, involuntarily, because there is a serious war going on between her flight and fight instincts right now.

This strikes Selina as a good time to 'fess up. "If you mean that paper I pickpocketed from you in the sewers, thanks for nothing. What was that supposed to be? Alphabet soup?"

"Where is it?" asks Bane, intense and insistent.

Selina sighs and points at a pile of books on the desk. "A Tale of Two Cities. Somewhere in the middle."

Bane rises and makes for the desk. All of his movements are deliberate and controlled, save for an impatient twitch in the fingers of his left hand. A twitch that Selina does not like.

He finds the book and shakes it by the spine. The scrap of paper floats out like the wing of a dead butterfly.

Selina does not much care for the loss of this physical copy of Bane's formula, because of course she has made copies on her phone, her laptop, and in cloud storage under twelve different usernames. Maybe it will come in useful, maybe it won't. Selina always hedges her bets.

Bane pockets the piece of paper and returns to his seat on the edge of Selina's bed with the same deliberate slowness as before.

"You know what it was," says Bane.

"Yeah, okay," admits Selina. "Some kind of anaesthetic."

Bane studies her. Selina has never been in a position where her fate is actively being decided before her eyes, but there it is.

"I am keeping you alive because I need the Batman, and you are one of those who would be able to bring him to me. Do not make me regret this decision with further foolishness of this nature."

"Seriously?" laughs Selina, and she is delighted with herself because her laughter sounds genuine. "Are you scolding me right now?"

"Scolding? No, Ms. Kyle." He lays a hand on her bare shoulder, a friendly, patronizing gesture that is heavy with threat. "I am merely warning you."

Selina wants to shrink away from his touch, but doesn't. Instead she sighs a profound and dramatic sigh.

"I guess I should refrain from further foolishness tonight, then," she says.

Bane is unsure of her meaning and looks at her questioningly.

Selina puts on a pouty face and hands something to Bane. It is the knife he had tucked into the side of his vest. The side opposite from where Selina is sitting right now.

He is genuinely surprised, as far as she can tell. At any rate, his eyebrows have risen a fraction and a huff of static-y breath emerges from the mask.

Bane looks at her with a new look, a thoughtful one. A re-evaluation.

"Sorry," says Selina, not sounding sorry at all. "Such foolishness is just in my nature. Plus, it was a nice knife."

"I have heard tales of your exploits, Ms. Kyle. Some of them I thought rather – exaggerated," says Bane. "But I see that you have some skill. What else have you taken from me tonight?"

Selina drops two keys and some strange coins onto her bedspread. "Also, your underwear," she says as the items clink softly together.

To his credit, Bane does not immediately check his pants. Yeah, so she's not that good. But she's pretty freakin' good.

And she knows that Bane values competence. And she knows that she values her life. Maybe they can find a happy middle ground.

Bane rises. Selina feels that the threat of critical danger has lifted. Now it is just regular danger, you know, the kind where there's a strange man in your bedroom and you're lying in your bed wearing only skimpy lingerie. Bane's eyes linger on her exposed shoulder for the briefest moment. Selina does not pull the cover back up, though she really wants to.

But no. This one is all about control. He turns away.

"Bring me the Batman. Then we will speak further."

He leaves.

Selina moves her .22 to the bedside table and lies awake until dawn.

VVVVV

Selina does not hear from Bane again for weeks. He keeps himself occupied with whatever nefarious deeds one gets up to in sewers, and Selina keeps herself occupied with hers.

She hears through the grapevine that Mr. John Daggett of Daggett Industries is hosting a soirée at his house, just a "small affair" of 200 or so of Gotham's wealthiest citizens. Selina did not receive an invitation. Perhaps Mr. Daggett does not know that, despite her lifestyle choices, she actually ranks among the 200 or so wealthiest citizens. Perhaps after skimming some wallets and jewel-adorned necks tonight, she will rank among the 150 or so wealthiest instead. Because by not sending Selina Kyle an invitation, Daggett has inadvertently invited the Cat to prowl his halls.

Selina gets ready. Sleeveless dress – black, of course. Nice heels, high enough to turn heads, but not so high as to impede her movement too much. A sleek updo. A simple silver necklace that highlights her delicate collarbone. A few weapons tucked discreetly here and there.

She has a cab drop her off two blocks from the Daggett residence. As Selina nears the house, she identifies her way into the party: a middle-aged corporate-looking type in a tux who is checking his phone before heading up the crowded stairs to the front door.

Selina brushes by him and _accidentally_ drops her clutch. Laughter, thank you _so much_ for picking that up for me, small talk, a flash of the smile – he is hers now. They make their way up the stairs. The doormen recognize Selina's escort from the photos on their invitation list and are too well-trained to ask about the woman who accompanies him; there's always a new woman in these circles. They open the doors with polite words of welcome. Selina brushes past them with the socialite smile but with just enough friendliness in her eyes that they decide they like her.

Inside, Selina helps herself to hors-d'oeuvres, nurses a glass of Italian red, chit chats, laughs, and in a few hours has made a few friends and about ninety grand. Some industrialist's wife was wearing the most breathtaking ring, and there was a lovely set of diamond earrings on another that seems to have disappeared.

Selina delights a great many men with her beauty and her wit that evening; a few have decided that they are actually in love with her. The women are less impressed, but many will wear a black sleeveless dress and sleek chignon to the next party.

It is eleven o'clock. The living rooms and sitting rooms have filled up and begin to offend Selina's sensitive nose, stinking of too many bodies, too many dowagers' perfumes, too many men sweating in black tie, too many mouths opened in superficial conversation. Selina is relieved when the party begins to spill onto the lawns and around the pool.

She makes her way to the far end of the garden and melts into the treeline at the end of the yard, studying Daggett's house from the back. There are no doubt a great many interesting things locked away on the second floor. She counts windows, locates gutters, identifies soft landing points, and decides to go explore.

A deep breath of the early summer air before plunging back into the overfull house. Selina makes her way up the grand central staircase to the second floor, where she casually leans on the massive mahogany bannister that opens to the floor below, fanning herself lazily with her clutch. To all that glance at her it, looks like she has come upstairs for a moment of respite. Meanwhile, she counts doors and matches windows to those she saw outside.

A man in black tie passes and asks her how she is enjoying the evening.

"Marvelous," she says with a smile. "But these affairs fatigue me. I just need to take a breather."

"Of course," says the man. "You know, there are quieter rooms this way. May I?"

He offers Selina his arm and leads her to the back end of the house, where more salons have been opened up for the evening, with furniture just as gaudy and ostentatious as one might expect of a classless nouveau riche like Daggett.

They find an empty sitting room. Selina collapses onto a chaise and speaks with the man, one of Daggett's VPs, as it turns out. His name is William Baker. Mid-forties. Divorced. No kids. In pretty good shape. They talk of the weather, parties, hating parties. Selina enchants him. Sometimes it's a problem, being so charming. Now she has a hanger-on when all she wants is to be alone and start scoping out the second floor.

Selina tries to hold back a yawn but fails. Baker is well-mannered. He sees the yawn and apologizes for having tired her even further – his fault entirely, he knew she was already fatigued. He suggests that she lay there quietly for a few minutes. He snaps his fingers at a passing server and tells him to see to it that the lady is not disturbed. He turns back to Selina, tells her that he will be downstairs. He hopes to see her there again shortly; the night is young, and he has enjoyed their conversation so much. Here is his card, in case they miss each other. He shuts the door behind him.

The door mutes the music and hundred conversations emanating from below. Finally. Selina sits up immediately, alert as ever. There is nothing of interest in this room except for a bowl of chocolate bonbons on the coffee table. She pops one into her mouth, then exits the room by a side door.

It opens onto another salon with a few scattered groups of people having quiet conversations. Selina smiles shyly at them as she passes through. She tries other doors – a guest suite, a powder room, storage, a media room...

Selina narrows down her options until she comes to an unlit hallway at the front of the house. This must be the master suite, perhaps the study is this way too. She follows the hallway until she reaches a thick door. Selina tries the handle then rolls her eyes. Why do they always waste their time with locks?

Anyone who really wants to get in, will get in. Fact.

Selina swings open the heavy door thirty seconds later and closes it behind her.

Three things happen simultaneously: the faint light from the hallway is shut out, the sounds of the party fade to almost nothing, and a hint of camphor tickles her nose.

At least she smells him before she sees him; it gives her enough time to compose herself. But, can she just ask, _what the bloody hell is he doing here?_

"We have to stop running into each other like this," says Selina so calmly that she almost sounds bored.

Her eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and so she does not know where to turn to speak to him. For all she knows, he is behind her. Her ears strain for a hint of his amplified breathing.

"Indeed," comes Bane's gravelly voice. His tone is agreeable, genial almost. "It seems we are destined to cross paths."

Behind her. Of course. Selina pivots.

"May I ask what you are doing in the private wing of Mr. Daggett's residence tonight, Ms. Kyle?" asks Bane. "I believe he had locked the door."

Selina shrugs in exaggerated nonchalance. "I could ask you the same."

Bane makes a breathy sound that might be a scoff. "You could."

There is a pause during which Selina can feel herself being studied. "You look different when you are not outfitted to burgle, Ms. Kyle. You make a very passable high-society lady."

Selina raises an eyebrow. In truth she wishes she was in her catsuit now – it is extremely difficult to pull off a proper roundhouse in a dress this tight. "Thank you. I think."

Her eyes adjust and she can make out Bane better now, three feet away from her. He is wearing dark, vaguely military clothing, leaning against the door she just came through, arms crossed comfortably on his chest. He is the picture of composure, ease, and control.

The sound of Bane's slow, mask-filtered breathing confirms it. Though Selina has barged in here unexpectedly, he is utterly unconcerned. She, on the other hand, is really not enjoying the surprise company.

There is a power imbalance here and it is not in her favour. For Selina, that is not the usual order of things.

Selina notices a brace on Bane's right wrist and makes a note to hit him hard there one day.

"So. Here to relieve Mr Daggett of some of his possessions?" asks Bane. Selina thinks he is trying to be humorous, but it is hard to tell. The mask does strange things to his inflections.

"Oh, you know… just exploring," says Selina. She begins to look around the room and in the darkness spots a desk, a computer, and in the furthest corner, a safe. Her eyes light up and she makes her way to it. It is an excellent pretext for getting out of Bane's immediate vicinity.

"I cannot allow you to do that," says Bane as Selina squats in front of the safe. He still hasn't moved.

"Why _ever_ not?" asks Selina in her most honeyed tones.

"This is the home of my current employer," says Bane. "I feel a degree of… responsibility."

"Employer?" repeats Selina. She unglues her eyes from the safe long enough to look at Bane incredulously. "What, are you one of Daggett's rent-a-cops? He must have some pretty damn nice stuff to protect, if he's hired you. Now I'm really curious about what's in here."

Selina has heard that Bane is a mercenary. But it seems unaccountably strange that someone like Daggett would need to hire a mercenary. He's in the construction industry. Why are they even associated with each other? What is Daggett protecting, or hiding, or plotting?

Does she actually care? No, not really, as long as whatever naughty thing they're up to does not interfere with the many naughty things that she's up to.

"Anyway," says Selina, examining the safe despite Bane's warning, "I thought you were Gotham's liberator, not Daggett's personal po-po."

"The two positions are not mutually exclusive," says Bane. "For now."

The for now is ominous, or it would be if Selina were remotely interested in Daggett's affairs or well-being. Sucks to be Daggett, apparently Bane is eventually going to off him.

The safe makes small beeping sounds as Selina experimentally touches some buttons. It is partially instinct, partially ten thousand hours of practice, that makes her so good at cracking these things.

She unlocks it on the third try. A small light shines green, indicating that the door can be opened.

"I would not be much of a mercenary if I allowed you to rob my employer before my eyes," says Bane. He still has not moved from his spot by the door, but he has shifted his stance. His breathing stays regular.

Selina is now powerfully curious about what is in the safe, unlocked in front of her, but the old adage about curiosity and the untimely death of the cat has always rung very true for her. She will bide her time on this one.

"You're no fun," says Selina. She twirls out of her squat and seats herself lightly on the safe instead, one foot on the floor, one heel resting on the safe. It is a beautiful, elegant pose, intended to distract – and it also gives her leverage to vault to the desk and from there to the partially-opened window. Her muscles are primed for the trajectory, because Bane has tensed as well.

Bane doesn't move, so Selina does not leap yet. She looks at him unconcernedly, then pulls a chocolate bonbon out of nowhere and takes a slow bite.

"Want some?" asks Selina, holding the half-eaten buttery sphere of chocolate out towards him.

A muscle in Bane's arm twitches and she sees his jaw clench along the edge of the mask.

Selina shrugs when Bane doesn't answer and eats the bonbon herself. Distraction tactics. "How do you eat, anyway? The mask must make things a little difficult."

There is a pause as Bane digests Selina's understatement. "Yes, Ms. Kyle. It does."

"So do you just, like, drink Ensure through a straw?"

She knows that she is pushing it; the guy has his pride. He confirms this by taking a step forward. One pace.

She didn't flinch when he moved. Gold star for Selina.

"Your tongue will get you in trouble, little cat," says Bane.

"It also gets me out of it," says Selina, licking her fingertips free of melted chocolate quite significantly.

"So we've covered why I'm here tonight," says Selina. "Why are you here?"

She wants Bane to lean back against the wall and give her another second of flight time. He does not grant her silent wish.

"Business," says Bane.

His eyes follow her legs, then take in the way her palms are pressed casually, but firmly, against the safe. He knows what she's about. He's good.

"Really?" says Selina with a raised brow. "Business. With Daggett. You're looking to get into the construction industry?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Selina gives Bane a very cynical look.

"Perhaps _reconstruction_ would be more accurate," says Bane after a beat.

"What are you reconstructing?" asks Selina.

"Everything," says Bane.

"Are you always this cryptic?"

"My meaning will become clearer to you in time, Ms. Kyle."

"Why can't you just say what you mean?"

Bane's eyes bore into hers. "I only ever say what I mean."

Selina sighs. Her patience and curiosity have run out simultaneously. Time to blow this popsicle stand. She glances at her options – window or door? Bane knows about the window. Let's be daring.

"Well, it's been nice chatting," says Selina, all grace and politeness, as though Bane is one of the businessmen in love with her downstairs and they have idled too long over cocktails and caprese brochettes.

She stands, rearranges her dress, touches her hair. "I'd better get back downstairs before I'm missed."

It amuses her that Bane is slightly incredulous as she walks directly up to him and brushes by him to reach for the door handle.

Only, apparently she wasn't supposed to do that. Apparently she was supposed to take the coward's exit. Apparently he decides that she is not afraid of him enough.

A hand rests heavily on the side of her neck.

Selina would rather not be unceremoniously killed right here, right now, and so she freezes completely. She doesn't even frisk him, which is saying something.

There is a moment that lasts an eon, when Bane's heavy hand rests against the delicate skin of Selina's neck, when they stand unmoving and their eyes lock and they think of a hundred ways to kill one another here in this dark, silent room.

And then they blink, and that is the state of affairs when Daggett bursts into the study. Selina recognizes him from downstairs; short, greying, talks with a lisp.

Daggett stares open-mouthed at the tableau in front of him for a few seconds.

"What exactly is going on here?" he asks, finally, blustering with indignation and self-importance.

Selina's reaction is immediate. Righteous indignation colours her words. "I took a wrong turn to the ladies' room. The next thing I know, this guy is manhandling me and accusing me of trespassing. I'm here with Colonel Tully," she says, using the name of the first unattached man she can remember meeting that evening.

Daggett looks from one to the other. Oddly, Bane does not blow Selina's cover.

Selina is an excellent actress. She looks at Daggett expectantly, and, when he dithers, stomps a heel and imperiously asks him to call his dog off of her.

Daggett gestures at Bane, who holds Selina for one more long second before letting her go.

"Frankly I'm not sure why you keep such a hothead in your employ, Mr. Daggett," she says, touching her neck. "You'd think you were keeping state secrets in your study. The Colonel _will_ hear about this."

Before anyone can say anything further, Selina brushes angrily past the men and stabs her way down the hall in her stilettos.


	3. Chapter 3

_Inspiration images:_

_Selina waits. http://imgur.com/a7u3HVT  
_

_Selina watches. http://imgur.com/RnA8qF8  
_

VVVVV

Selina does not see or hear of Bane again until a fortnight later, while she has the news on as background noise. She hears a shrill voice reporting breaking news: a masked man and his goons have taken over the stock exchange.

Selina makes some popcorn, perches herself on the arm of her sofa, and watches the report. As the event develops, the report is interrupted with new footage – grainy security cameras, shaky cell-phone videos and photos, aerial shots – all of which are ingrained into Selina's brain. She watches Bane's patterns, his decisions. The reporters shout about hostages, victims, deaths, but all Selina wants to do is analyse Bane's process.

One of the hostages in the stock exchange lying on the floor near Bane's feet is livestreaming the events from his phone. A brave soul. The news picks up the feed and now the world watches too. Selina hears Bane's inorganic voice ask how long the program has left. Eight minutes. The pause, the thought. _Time to go mobile_. It is admirable how unhurried he is, how calm, how utterly in control.

The high speed chase that follows is thrilling. Motorcycles, cop cars. Selina watches avidly, popcorn forgotten. This is better than the movies, because vehicles are actually on fire, and people are actually dying.

Suddenly, the Batman makes an appearance and the reporters all simultaneously cream their pants. Selina watches Bane's red helmet make its way offscreen as the cameras are now focused on the shadowy caped figure weaving among the vehicles. Shots, explosions. More bodies.

In the aftermath, the news stations replay all of the footage, reporters report, commentators commentate, experts expound…

What resonates the most with Selina is not the deaths, not the daringness of the heist, it is Bane's self-command in the midst of the chaos.

There is footage of Bane leaving the stock exchange. Selina watches the clip carefully every time it is re-run. The way Bane takes his helmet back from an awestruck bystander. The jolly "thank you". The smiling eyes.

She could learn from this guy. She has insouciance down pat, but he is just incredibly self-assured, and Selina is convinced that (unlike her nonchalance) it is not a mask. He acts like he owns the world.

Selina gets up, stretches, puts on one of her catsuits and slips on her night-vision goggles.

The thing is, Bane doesn't actually own the world. And, as he seems rather occupied tonight, it's time to take care of something that's been bothering her for the past few weeks: Daggett's safe.

It is two in the morning by the time she gets to the industrialist's house. She breaks in with no difficulties to speak of. The safe's code has not been changed.

The green light blinks at Selina and she opens the safe.

It is empty.

Bane is no fun at all.

Selina grabs a post-it note from the desk, draws a frowny face on it, puts it in the safe, and locks it back up.

VVVVV

When she is not out pilfering from the rich and (sometimes) giving to the poor, Selina trains. She has redoubled her usual efforts, because, if she's perfectly honest with herself, she is afraid of Bane. It's stupid in the sense that he has not hurt her – yet – but twice now he has managed to get a hand on her neck.

Fear is an excellent motivator.

She focuses on evasion, agility, speed, acrobatics. Because if he catches her, he will break her like a twig. She pulls her whip out of its drawer; she hasn't really needed it in a long time, but now, it will find its home in her boot once again.

She's probably a touch faster than Bane is. Maybe. Definitely more flexible because she doesn't have the bulk of those muscles. But he outmatches her pretty solidly everywhere else.

She needs to practice with real men.

In the next few months, Gotham's already low petty crime rate decreases even further as Gotham's gangsters and thugs become Selina's training fodder. She is so keen that she makes it difficult for them to hide, here in this vast city of 12 million people.

Word gets around Gotham's underground that the Cat is PMSing badly, and has suddenly become inexplicably territorial.

She has occasional encounters with Bane's men. She thinks, perhaps, some of them might share the same fighting style as him and would therefore be good practice. But she is careful to only fight them with good reason – the last thing she wants is for Bane to come stomping to one of her homes and ask for an explanation for her aggression. So she fights them when they're infringing on her turf, in Brideshead, or if they cause trouble at the local brothels.

One night, she tangles with the Batman. They disagree about whether or not Selina should be allowed to lift some new décor from the Museum of Modern Art. Then he forbids her, with his fists, from stealing his fancy motorcycle.

Then he asks her if she knows where Bane is.

Why yes. Yes, she does.

VVVVV

Selina takes the Batman to the sewers. They have become very familiar to her, these passages – she has made it a habit to come down here once in a while, undetected, to skulk around and see what she can see.

Usually it's just a lot of poop.

So they make their way down the winding, stinking passages of the sewers, and barely a whisper of sound is created by the two of them combined. Selina appreciates this. Stealth is a valuable asset to her.

She has her night-vision goggles pushed back up onto her head, and her wavy shadow on the walls looks like it has cat ears as a result. Cute.

Selina pretends to take out a few guards here and there to make this seem like a legitimate infiltration to the Batman. She gives Bane's sentries friendly taps and they collapse easily.

One of them actually gets caught by the Batman and is actually knocked out. Sorry Farad.

They round a corner. A large three-storey room opens up before them, bisected by pillars, narrow metal catwalks, cascades of water, chains.

"There," whispers Selina to the Batman.

Bane's form lurks in the shadows, his back turned to them.

The Batman narrows his eyes and walks into the chamber. As soon as he passes the threshold of the room, all of the gates clang shut.

Selina is informed by the Batman that she has made A Serious Mistake.

The Batman is informed by Bane that he has made A Seriouser Mistake. He is informed repeatedly of this fact by Bane's fists.

Bane calls the Batman "Mr. Wayne". Selina gasps a little. Is this for real? This means she just inadvertently led Gotham's resident reclusive do-gooder billionaire into Bane's loving arms.

Oopsie.

In her defence, he _asked_ her to take him to Bane. What did he think was going to happen? Tea and biscuits?

Selina nevertheless feels a touch guilty, watching the beating the guy takes. Her resolve to train harder is strengthened by each blow, because she can see that Bane outclasses the Batman, who outclasses her. (Sometimes, it's just not fair that she's a 125 pound female.)

The Batman (Bruce Wayne – oh god) impresses her, somehow he endures hits that would have knocked Selina unconscious ten times over. Maybe she should get a reinforced cowl… also, she bets this nerd now wishes he had a gun. She told him his no guns rule was stupid. He's paying for it now.

Bane's moves are calculated, clinical. He doesn't berzerk, doesn't hit any harder than necessary. Makes a few dramatic speeches. How is he so theatrical and murderous at the same time?

His only flirtation with a lapse in control is when the Batman plunges the place into darkness. Bane speaks, his narrative punctuated by blows: he was born in this darkness, molded by it. He did not see the light until he was already a man, and by then it was nothing to him but _blinding_. There is anger there; it is the first time that Selina hears Bane raise his voice.

The fight comes to its end. Selina watches, mesmerized, as the Batman is lifted up and brought down onto Bane's knee with a sickening crack.

Bane removes the Batman's broken mask. He looks up to Selina for a brief moment as he carelessly flings away the cowl. He catches her staring, lips parted, breathless, fingers hooked lightly into the chain-link gate.

She is drawn to danger like a moth to flame. Sometimes it's a problem.

Explosions shake the sewers and the roof caves in. Selina does not expect this and almost flees. Except it is all part of the plan, all under control. Prototypes of tumblers and other expensive Wayne Enterprises weaponry come crashing down from above.

The time for creeping in sewers is over. Bane is moving up in the world.

VVVVV


	4. Chapter 4

_Inspiration image: Selina à la Audrey. http://imgur.com/eGRabIs  
_

VVVVV

Selina is extremely curious about what Bane plans to do to Bruce Wayne. Because he didn't quite kill him, and that, like everything else he does, must be deliberate. And so she does some casual espionage.

Selina hears and sees nothing of interest until three days after the Batman's beatdown. She is sipping on a cup of coffee (black, of course) at the French café across from Wayne Enterprises when a convoy of three SUVs suddenly emerges from the tower's underground parking lot.

Finally, some action. Selina leaves the café and is at the wheel of her car in seconds, gunning it to catch up to the SUVs. (Well, not her car, technically – the BWM that she _borrowed_ from last night's date. He won't be needing it anyway; he is still sleeping off the best night of his life.)

She keeps a cautious distance from the convoy as she follows it onto the interstate. Her vehicle is a dark grey, not too flashy and honestly quite forgettable as far as Gotham goes. Perfect for weaving in and out behind the group of SUVs ahead.

They head straight out of Gotham. Selina bites her lip as they hit the interstate, wondering if this is going to be a long haul, and whether she might be a tad overdressed. She has a change of clothes in her overnight bag, which is a blessing – because today she is in high city slicker gear, with a Hepburn-inspired black dress, a high chignon, pearl earrings, red lipstick. Altogether not conducive to stomping about in the country. Especially not the black Jimmy Choo stilettos on her feet.

Three hours later, the SUVs pull off the highway and into the grounds of a tiny rural airport. Selina parks out of sight behind a small administrative building and watches.

It is late on a Monday morning, but the airport is dead quiet. Lucky for her, and lucky for Bane's men.

… unless they made certain that the place would be so dead, by killing everyone in it. The possibility strikes Selina as a definite possibility.

She recognizes some of the men as they emerge from the vehicles. Farad is there, and the one called Barsad. They are carrying something between them. From Selina's vantage point, it looks an awful lot like a body bag on a stretcher. They are relatively careful with it, carrying it to an open hangar with minimal jostling. A small jet is nestled in the shadows of the hangar. Selina can make out its registration number. N-104C.

So it appears that Bruce Wayne is taking a little trip. Other men are emerging from the SUVs, carrying large guns. Selina decides to make herself scarce. She tries the back door of the building she is hiding behind: it looks like a bunch of small offices, perhaps she can find a flight list or some other useful information there, and get out of sight in the meantime.

The door is unlocked. Selina slips in quietly and breathes a sigh of gratitude at the carpeted interior of the building which muffles her otherwise obnoxious shoes. After making a quick survey of the four offices therein, she concludes that the place is empty. Suspiciously empty on a regular Monday morning. She hopes that the employees are not dead but merely incapacitated. Some of the desks have children's artwork displayed, and family pictures. Surely Bane is not that much of an asshole.

Yeah, no. He probably is.

Selina stops at a likely-looking office, having long ago learned to trust her instincts when she is on the hunt. The office is a tad dingy but the desk is well organized. It belongs to a Maurice S. Taylor according to the nameplate on the door. Selina flicks through files on cruising altitudes, aircraft security regulations, weather, until she finds a folder labelled 'flight plans'.

There is no flight plan entry for N-104C today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. So whatever is happening today is too illicit for registration. Selina bites her lip pensively, then starts flicking through back pages.

She starts seeing activity for N-104C in previous months. Flights to Washington, to Europe, to North Africa, to Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan other -stans that she didn't even know existed...

Selina is so engrossed in the jet's flight history that she does not hear the building's door open. But she hears the crackle of a walkie-talkie, heavy footsteps, and then – oh god, no – the sound of filtered breathing.

Bane's bulk fills the door.

"Ms. Kyle!" he says in a jovial tone as Selina successfully quashes the scream in her throat. "I was wondering who had decided to come into work today."

Selina struggles momentarily to find her tongue. Oh, there it is. Good.

"It's a Monday," says Selina, raising a shoulder into a careless shrug. "Why wouldn't people be at work?"

Bane's eyes smile at her. He knows he's caught her red-handed, but he's humouring her. "A fair question. But, you see… these people, specifically, will have found that they had… more pressing matters to attend to today."

"What did you do to them?" asks Selina, buying time as her mind races from her cut-off escape route to the enormous predator blocking the door.

"Do to them? Me?" says Bane. "Nothing at all."

He is very bad at play-acting innocence. Selina snaps out her next sentence impatiently, though she is more anxious than irritated. "Your goons, then. What did they do to the people who work here?"

Bane enters the room and makes his way to the desk, which now sits between himself and Selina. He picks up a framed family photograph that is proudly displayed on the corner and contemplates it. "A family emergency, let us say. Several, in fact. It was... unfortunate timing for all involved."

He places the frame face-down on the desk with a snap. His tone grows serious. "But that is really none of your concern, Ms. Kyle. Let us address the more important issue. Why are you here?"

A few quick lies and excuses hover on the tip of Selina's tongue, but die there when Bane's eyes bore into hers, framed by the black intensity of the mask. He is daring her to lie to him, to give him a reason to end her.

There are rare occasions when honesty is the best policy. Selina decides that this is one of them.

"I was curious about what you're going to do with Wayne," she says. "So I decided to find out."

Bane rests his hands on the desk. Selina is certain that, if he wanted, he could launch it at her and crush her. She tenses.

"It did not occur to you to just... ask?" Bane's head tilts slightly to the side as he contemplates her.

"Where's the fun in that?" asks Selina. "And would you have told me?"

Bane is quiet for a moment. "Perhaps."

Selina feels Bane studying her as she pretends to readjust her driving gloves. The silence is broken only by the regular sounds of Bane's breathing. He seems to be thinking about what to do with her. A forefinger taps the desk. Selina notes in passing that it is the left forefinger, the one that doesn't have the brace.

Bane breathes a deep sigh that comes through the mask in a loud crackle. "This was an unwise course of action, Ms. Kyle," he says finally. He almost sounds tired. "Mr. Wayne has powerful friends. You will understand, I do not want them alerted to what is happening here today."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about _that_. I won't tell anyone," says Selina, looking up quickly and radiating sincerity. "I didn't tell anyone about his beating, or that he's actually the Batman – and I have absolutely no intention of divulging what I've seen here."

"That is well," says Bane. Again, the friendliness that suffuses his voice does anything but put her at ease.

"Great," says Selina. There is an awkward silence.

A long awkward silence.

"...I'll just be leaving now, then," says Selina.

He is at the desk, so Selina does have a clear path to the door now. She seizes her courage with both hands and strides confidently towards the exit.

She flinches when Bane moves at the very last second, blocking the door with a ridiculously large arm.

"No," says Bane, a smile in his eyes, as though Selina just made a cute joke. "You will not be leaving. You will join me."

" _Join_ you…?" says Selina, almost stuttering as she repeats his words. He is close to her now, she can smell the analgesic. She stares at the crook of his elbow, which is dotted with a few tiny red marks where the veins are the bluest. What. Is he a junkie?

Bane's breath hisses out at her, chasing this question from her head. "Yes, join me. I will know that you won't be able to talk to anyone. And you will be able to find out what happens to Mr. Wayne. Is this not a happy compromise?"

No. It is the worst compromise that Selina has ever heard of.

Selina weighs her options quickly; in each scenario she ends up getting manhandled by Bane and made to do what he wants anyway. Or, you know, dead. So she decides to play along. She'll keep more doors open this way.

She touches her lower lip pensively, then looks at Bane with a smile. "Cool. I'm in."

Her heart is pounding up a frenzy in her chest, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Good," says Bane, pushing himself off of the doorframe with a grunt. "I believe you may even be of use to me."

Selina says nothing, hovering uncertainly at the door until Bane moves out of the way and places a hand in the small of her back. The low _after you_ that he grumbles into her ear carries heavy threat beneath a veneer of courtesy.

He follows her out of the building, too close behind her for comfort. Selina makes for the BMW, explaining over her shoulder that she needs to get her things. As she opens the passenger-side door to grab her overnight bag and purse, she wonders if she's fast enough to get the key in the ignition, jump into the driver's seat, and run Bane over before he can react.

No, she probably isn't. Plus, he is holding the passenger side door open, and Selina doubts very much that it is purely out of gallantry, or just to admire her ass as she leans over. She sighs, pulls out her belongings, and steps away from the car.

"May I?" asks Bane, gesturing to Selina's things.

Selina passes them to him reluctantly.

He inverts the small suitcase and the purse roughly onto the hood of the car. Selina's possessions come tumbling out in a heap of weapons, beauty products, spare panties, and more weapons.

"Hey," says Selina as her purse is smacked around. "I'll have you know that's my _absolute_ favourite Burberry purse you're roughing up. It's probably more precious to me than your mask is to you."

Bane gives her a look. "I doubt that very much, Ms. Kyle."

He pokes around the interior of her purse, satisfying himself that it is empty, and then passes a large hand in the heap of Selina's things that is currently scratching up the hood of the BMW. He doesn't care about the whip or the gun or the knives, the panties give him momentary pause, a balled-up tank top is shaken out to check there is nothing hidden in it… her phone holds his interest. He slips out the SD card, drops it, and crushes it under his booted heel.

"Now we can proceed," he says, gesturing to Selina to put her things away. She does so with relatively steady hands and follows him to the hangar.

VVVVV

Bane's men do not seem thrilled to have Selina in their midst. She finds a seat in the small aircraft amid very suspicious stares. Bane tells them to settle, and welcome a "temporary" teammate. Selina does not like this "temporary".

The only one who does not seem to have a problem with her is Barsad, Bane's second in command. Apparently, if she's good enough for Bane, she's good enough for Barsad. She elects to sit next to him for this reason and promises not to steal anything from him with a charming smile.

"I am sure you have already determined that there's nothing worth stealing on my person," says Barsad rather drily.

"Well, the knife seemed interesting, and I like your watch, but no, nothing really worth stealing," says Selina with a smirk. Clever boy knows he's already been frisked.

He does not return the smile. Selina studies his face from the side. Another olive-toned complexion with light eyes. Another unplaceable accent.

Bane walks through the cabin like a dementedly over-muscled flight attendant, stopping to exchange a word here and there with men who watch him with worship in their eyes. Selina cannot catch the meaning of their brief conversations from where she is sitting. She has keen ears, but he is using another language entirely.

Bane disappears into the cockpit and, five minutes later, the small plane makes its way down the runway.

"Is Bane flying this thing?" asks Selina in surprise.

Barsad shakes his head. "He does not fly. But he likes to be where the action is."

"I see. So... where are we going?"

"Isn't that what you're here to find out?"

"It would be easier if you just told me."

"Yes, it would be," agrees Barsad.

He turns his attention to a handheld and proceeds to ignore her.

Selina sighs, kicks off her stilettos, curls up, and gazes out of the window. There are seven men in total on the aircraft including Bane and, presumably, one pilot. It is a rather small team. Bane (monster), Barsad (acceptable), Farad (dickhead), techie-looking guy (shy), gun guy (beefcake), pilot (unknown quantity; can at least fly a plane). She needs to learn more names.

And of course, Bruce Wayne is the seventh man, unconscious somewhere on this plane.

Selina twiddles her thumbs for half an hour. Then, since this airline sucks and does not provide her with in-flight entertainment, she decides to take a nap. And, you know, she is off on a mysterious voyage and must therefore be as well-rested as possible for her arrival god-knows-where in god-knows-how-long.

When she awakens, they are flying over an ocean, which gives Selina a general sense that they are headed over the Atlantic to Europe or beyond.

Selina stretches and decides to find a bathroom and a more talkative seatmate than Barsad, who is asleep. Bathroom first.

The tiny bathroom is at the back of the plane, behind a kind of cargo hold area with no seats. The body bag that Selina suspects contains Bruce Wayne is there. She nudges it casually with a foot as she walks by and elicits no response from within. Maybe he is dead after all.

In the bathroom, Selina loses the sharp metropolitan professional look. Her hair comes tumbling out of its high bun into soft waves at her shoulders, still wafting the sweet smell of her shampoo. She removes the pearl earrings. The bright red lipstick is carefully dabbed off with some wet tissue paper. The dress she is wearing seems to relax itself into a more casual shape, now that she has lost the bun and the earrings. The shoes remain a little eye-catching, but eh… a little distraction in the form of shapely calves and a sexy walk is always a useful thing.

The little tech guy is Selina's next target. She perches herself uninvited onto the seat next to him and manages to engage him in small talk after a few false starts. This is a different experience for her; these men are all highly suspicious of her rather than love-stricken wide-eyed innocents. But this tech guy… he is the weak link.

His name is Piotr. He has the same unplaceable accent, the same tanned skin. Scruffy short beard with a bit of grey. He is a small guy, svelte in build, not the typical mercenary musclehead. In his late thirties, maybe. He avoids Selina's eyes out of shyness and focuses often on the laptop in front of him. His fingers fly over the keys with impressive speed. He is tracking various things, and programming something, Selina thinks, though no screen really stays up long enough for her to get a good look.

She asks him about his work, how long he's been doing this. He opens up a touch when he is talking about computers. She asks him about some dumb, fabricated issues she claims to have with her own tech and he offers some suggestions. Defrosts a little more towards her.

All of Bane's men, and Bane himself, wear pocket-studded cargo pants in various shades of camo. This gives Selina great pleasure: she is exceedingly fond of pockets. All the best things are found in pockets.

Piotr's attention is almost totally focused on her cleavage whenever she leans over to 'look out the window', which makes everything a hundred times easier. There are several interesting things in his pockets, but Selina does not want to get him in trouble (yet) and doesn't need them (yet) so she decides to let him keep them.

Selina catnaps again, and after fifteen minutes her head gently slips onto Piotr's shoulder. She knows her hair smells good, and that he has a great view down the front of her dress from this angle. He doesn't move a muscle except for the occasional tap on his keyboard. Selina smiles a secret smile and sleeps.

VVVVV

Selina drifts out of her doze when her ears complain about a sudden change in pressure: it looks like they're coming in for a landing. Selina's best guess is that they have been airborne for about seven hours – so, Europe somewhere?

She looks around, restless and ready for some action – however, no-one moves to get out of their seats when they actually land. So Selina does not move either. It appears to be merely a refueling stop. She tries get a look at their location through the window, but night has fallen in this part of the world, and she only sees glowing lights in the distance that could be any city, anywhere. Piotr does not offer any hints, despite her best efforts.

They take off again and Selina realizes that she is truly going on an adventure to the great unknown. It would actually be fun and exciting, if it wasn't for Bane being in the cockpit, filling her with vague dread. She is only "temporary," after all.

Barsad gets up about thirty minutes after the second take-off and distributes packets of field rations and bottles of water. Selina has eaten MREs before and is therefore not too excited by the prospect, but she's hungry, so. She trades her beef ravioli for Piotr's tuna, but keeps the chocolate bar.

VVVVV

Hours pass uneventfully. Selina chit-chats with everyone in the cabin with various degrees of success. Farad still kind of hates her, gun guy is called Gorbachev and was too handsy with her (he learned a brief but painful lesson), Piotr is hers for all intents and purposes, Barsad is smart and distant. The tall, dark-haired pilot emerges once to use the bathroom and scurries away just as quickly before Selina can assess him. Bane has not reappeared, to Selina's considerable relief.

Now Selina has napped three times, eaten, and charmed a few men. Now she is kind of bored. She wanders to the back of the cabin and earns a sharp reprimand from Barsad when she hovers over the body bag.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a twist."

She begins to poke around the rest of the cargo instead. She discovers more field rations, a great deal of weapons, and a crate of clothing. The latter holds her attention and she begins to root around in it. There are shirts in the military style that Bane's men wear, more cargo pants with tons of pockets, and a half-dozen pairs of combat boots lined up neatly at the bottom.

Since no-one seems to care what she is doing, she helps herself to the sole pair of XS pants in the bunch, and the smallest boots. Perhaps they are extras for Piotr, since he's tiny. Too bad for him.

Selina disappears into the bathroom after grabbing a spare black tank top from her bag. She is adaptable. When they land, it will not be the time to be simpering in a dress and tripping about in heels.

Selina studies herself in the mirror. Her black tank fits perfectly (boobs!), the khaki cargo pants hang a little low on her hips but look fine, and the boots stay on her feet with the help of an extra pair of socks.

All told, the look is very _tacticool_ if not strictly tactical. She looks like a GI Jane. Pretty badass, to be honest.

When she emerges from the bathroom, no-one remarks on her change of clothes except for Gorbachev, who stares a little too long.

To complete the transformation, Selina's beautiful Burberry purse is slipped into an empty, beaten-up duffle that is lying unused at the back of the aircraft. Now it won't stick out like a sore (but very fashionable) thumb.

Selina takes her original seat next to Barsad and puts her whip and her knife in her new pockets. Pockets! They're so convenient. Too bad they're a hideous addition to most women's clothes.

Her dress and heels are carefully tucked into her bag for the next time her feminine wiles are needed.

VVVVV


	5. Chapter 5

After a few more hours, the plane begins to angle into a descent. There is movement in the cabin this time. Bane's men stretch, fiddle with equipment, use the bathroom. Barsad does something with the body bag in the back, but rows of seats block Selina from getting a good look.

A second round of MREs is passed out by Barsad. Selina sniffs but eats because she does not know when her next meal will come.

It is dawn – at least, Selina thinks so. It could also be sunset, she supposes, but her gut tells her it is dawn. The aircraft has dropped low enough now that she can see land out of the window: they are flying over a vast, arid plain, populated here and there by a few scattered hamlets. Almost no vegetation to speak of.

The plane dips lower, and Selina looks for an airport but sees none. She then experiences the interesting feeling of having the plane come in for a landing with no actual runway in sight. It is not an experience she would recommend; she wants to scream that they are all plummeting to their deaths but apparently everyone else is used to these landings – no-one even blinks.

They land safely, if a little roughly, on a 'runway' that is differentiated from its surrounds only by its relative lack of boulders. Selina discreetly wipes her sweaty palms on her pants while Bane's crew gets ready to get off the plane.

Minutes later, Selina emerges from the jet, blinking in the bright sunlight, and almost takes a step back into Gorbachev from the unexpected intensity of the heat. The feel of it reminds her of opening an oven before it has cooled; it dries up her nostrils and eyes and she can feel her lips wanting to chap almost immediately.

"A cool morning," remarks Barsad as he climbs down in front of Selina.

"Freezing," says Selina, following him down to the dusty ground.

The group makes its way to a beaten up military truck, that quintessentially third world kind of truck with a large tarp covering the back of it to protect those seated within from the sun. There are no seats inside, only two long benches facing each other. Selina sits at the very back, which is really the very front, next to the driver's cabin. Barsad, Piotr, Gorbachev, and Farad climb in after her, carrying gear of all sorts, plus the stretcher bearing Bruce Wayne, which is placed in the middle of the truck. Selina looks at it out of the corner of her eye and still sees no movement there.

She hears Bane's voice giving instructions to the pilot, who is also apparently also going to be the driver.

Then Bane himself climbs into the back of the truck. The thing tilts slightly as he pulls himself in and the weight of him sitting down causes it to bounce on all four wheels. Yep, he's a big guy.

He catches Selina watching him; she gives him a happy smile. Because this is all just a big adventure to her, and she is not worried at all. Not even remotely worried about being in this unforgiving place with its strange language, its odd denizens and its merciless sun, far from every goddamn thing she knows…

His eyes travel from her tank to her pants to her new boots, but if he has an opinion on her wardrobe change, he keeps it to himself.

It is hot. The truck begins to move. Five minutes in, everyone is covered in a sheen of sweat, Selina, much to her disgust, included. If anyone asked her, she would have to say that sitting in a mostly enclosed space with five sweaty men (plus one half-dead guy in a bodybag) is not high on her priority list. They are quite smelly. But, no one asks her, so she keeps this opinion to herself.

It is so hot. Half an hour into the rough ride, Selina's hair is sticking to her neck. She sits up straight and pulls it up into a high ponytail. Then she unconsciously – mostly – wipes at a trickle of sweat that is making its way down between her breasts. Five pairs of eyes watch the movement with varying degrees of discretion.

Men.

Barsad hops off his bench to unzip the body bag a little. The zipper is on the side away from Selina, of course, so she cannot see any details. She supposes that even the Batman needs to breathe sometimes.

They drive on for hours in silence until the oppressive sun reaches its highest point in the sky and Selina wonders if she's allowed to faint from the heat. Then the truck stops.

"The end of the journey... for one of us," announces Bane to the truck at large, breaking the heavy silence. He gestures to Barsad and Farad, who get up and pull the stretcher out of the vehicle.

Bane motions to Selina to climb out and stand next to him. She knows that she is nearing a point of heat exhaustion, because when he takes her arm, her heart doesn't even skip a beat. He grabs her wrist and lines her index finger with a point on the horizon. It takes her a while to see what he is trying to show her. Their sweat mingles where their arms touch.

"You see it?" he says, a medicinal whiff accompanying the words spoken gruffly into Selina's ear.

"Yes, I see it," Selina says. A darkish spot in the ground about three hundred feet away. Selina can't quite tell what it is; the heat is making the ground wave uncertainly.

"You wanted to know where Mr. Wayne was being taken. That is the Pit," says Bane. "Hell on earth."

"Is that where…?" begins Selina. Bane is walking away from her now, followed closely by Farad and Barsad with the stretcher.

"There are many stories I could tell you about the place," says Bane. "Another day, perhaps."

He turns to look at her as Farad and Barsad carry Wayne towards the Pit.

"Return to the truck. Drink. You are useless to me if you collapse here."

Selina returns obediently to the truck, where Piotr and Gorbachev are silently sweating it out. Piotr hands her a water bottle, which she gratefully accepts. They have lifted the edges of the tarp that encases the back of the truck and a timid breeze flits fitfully across Selina's overheated skin. She splashes some water onto her face, her neck, her arms. Gorbachev smirks at her; Piotr monitors something on a handheld.

Bane, Barsad and Farad have become wiggly silhouettes on the horizon. And then they disappear into the earth, bearing the burden of a billionaire's broken body.

Selina has cooled down sufficiently to wonder what will become of Bruce Wayne, here in the middle of nowhere, here in hell on earth. Why bother to bring him alive to a place of death like this?

Maybe Bane is holding him hostage here. Maybe for ransom purposes. Maybe Bane has sadistic tendencies. Maybe all of the above.

Either way, it's kind of weird. And frankly not worth the trip halfway around the world to find out. She should never have followed the convoy of Escalades out of Wayne Enterprises.

But Selina has learned not to regret things. If she spent her time regretting all of the myriad of mistakes she has made in her life – well, she wouldn't spend much time actually living. Always onwards and upwards. Besides, on this little field trip she is getting to know Bane's core team quite well, which is always a useful thing. Networking.

The pilot-slash-driver comes out to the back of the truck to chat with Piotr and Gorbachev while they wait for the return of the others. He is tall, tanned like the rest, black-haired. They call him Dal. He spares Selina a glance which to her seems to have a hint of pity in it. It reminds Selina that she has been labelled "temporary" and makes her wonder.

They converse in their own language and Selina feels that they are talking about her. For all she knows, they are planning to throw her into the Pit and discussing the finer details right in front of her face. Gorbachev is laughing and speaking loudly, Piotr is studying his handheld but cracks a smile. Dal is shaking his head.

It irks Selina to no end, this language barrier. She has eavesdropper's ears but they are rendered useless by it. Of course, she won't let them know that she is irked. She stretches onto one of the benches on her stomach, props her chin into her hands, and gazes into the distance where Bane and company disappeared. The breeze picks up and cools her sweat-damp skin and she feels her core temperature begin to normalize. Her lightheadedness dissipates and she feels much more herself. Let Bane try to take her arm _now_ …

They wait for about an hour in this fashion until Bane, Barsad and Farad reappear, three wavering silhouettes on the horizon. Dal jumps to attention and starts the truck. Piotr and Gorbachev, who were slouching casually in the shade of the truck, get to their feet and start tying the tarp back down. And Selina stretches, wonders if she might have dozed off slightly, and resumes her seat.

"The Batman will no longer be a… concern," says Bane to his men.

He turns to Barsad. "We move to the village tonight. I wish to speak with Vilkroff tomorrow."

Barsad nods and disappears around the truck to give Dal this intelligence.

"Who's Vilkroff?" asks Selina quietly to Piotr when the truck is moving again and its loud engine offers some secrecy.

Piotr glances quickly at Bane, who is seated at the other end of the truck, staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular.

"Local warlord," he mutters.

"Why does Bane want to talk to him?"

"Recruiting."

Selina supposes that it makes sense, if Bane is yet another of those take-over-Gotham types, he'll need more than the fifty or so men he has there now. This is all very fascinating, watching the behind the scenes machinations of a takeover bid.

Especially knowing that the city's one-time savior, the Batman, is now slow-cooking in a hole in the ground.

Selina casts a stealthy look at Bane, who is still wearing a bullet-proof vest despite the heat. Sweat rivulets trickle down around the mask. It occurs to her that she hasn't seen him drink at all during all of these hours, though he's sweating like a horse. How does the guy rehydrate?

Very privately, evidently.

Selina feels that familiar pulse of curiosity that has landed her in trouble more times than she can count. But how can one not be curious about what's under the mask, especially since he is so secretive about it? She wonders if any of his men know. If any of them do, it'll be Barsad. She'll have to work on loosening up Barsad – he is extremely reserved with her. But she hasn't met a man she couldn't crack, given enough time and enough… other things.

Bane catches her staring at him. She looks away and feels the weight of his gaze on her for a long while thereafter.

Now they appear to be driving down an actual road. Decrepit buildings begin to loom on either side. Selina lifts a corner of the tarp and looks out with keen interest. It is a war-torn village, almost a ghost town by the looks of it. There are very few people, raggedly dressed, and all of them look fixedly at the ground as the truck passes. Selina does not think Bane and his men are welcome here. These people are afraid.

There is something vaguely Soviet about some of the buildings, but there are extremely Middle Eastern-looking ones as well. There are signs here and there in an alphabet that looks cyrillic to Selina, or perhaps Hebrew, or… hell, she has no idea.

They pull up to a narrow, multi-story house that looks slightly less beaten up than the others. It is riddled with bullet holes and cracks, but at least it has a functional roof. Bane's men begin to unload, so Selina grabs her duffle and fits right into the bustle of activity.

The place appears to be a guest house of some kind, with three small rooms divided between the second and third floors, and a dining area and kitchen on the main floor. There are no doors on the rooms, only sad-looking curtains, and there is one communal bathroom with a hose hooked to the ceiling in lieu of a shower.

Honestly, Selina has seen worse.

Selina lets the men sort out their rooms; she has already decided that she's rooming with Piotr, wherever he ends up, for... strategic reasons. She therefore dumps her bag in a corner and takes stock of the place, from the roof (flat, uninteresting) to the lower level (kitchen, interesting).

Two middle-aged women are working feverishly in the kitchen, making some kind of stew or goulash. They jump when Selina enters the kitchen and begin to work even faster, avoiding her eyes. Selina can see that they are afraid of her. She surveys them for a moment and then turns her attention to the back corner, where four small children have formed a sleepy pile on some blankets. They stare at her blankly when she says hello.

Right, so they don't speak English.

Through some miming, Selina conveys to the women that she wants to help them with the food. They look at her with an utter lack of comprehension, and then, when they finally understand, with suspicion. The two women have a hushed conversation after Selina makes it clear that she is not leaving, and eventually they decide to trust her enough to peel garlic.

This is networking of a different sort, the slow, small cultivation of favours that often yields the greatest results. Selina knows the importance of it and spends much of her time – and earnings – in Gotham courting janitors, garbage men, the homeless... the 99 percent. They are the ones who will unlock doors for her, spy for her, keep her in the loop on comings and goings in her 'hood. She makes their lives a little easier and they return the favour.

It is with the same intention that she has approached these women. They watch warily as Selina quickly dispatches the garlic. Selina gestures for more work, and the older of the two women finally pushes a bundle of onions towards her. The older woman holds up two fingers closely together: cut small.

"Cut small," says Selina. "You got it."

And so Selina Kyle, cat burglar extraordinaire, Gotham's resident sexpot villainess, chops onions. She does it well, too – she knows how to cook. Mother always said you keep a man happy by keeping his stomach full and his balls empty. It is advice she has taken to heart over the years, and it has served her well. Especially the latter part.

Selina chitchats with the women in English; they respond to her with wide-eyed incomprehension and occasional painfully forced smiles.

The only word that Selina speaks that they appear to recognize is Bane's name. It is a word that makes them shut down completely and stare down at their work. She decides not to use it any more.

Eventually the children rise from their heap in the corner to investigate this newcomer who dresses like a man and speaks an alien tongue. Selina rinses her knife when she has finished cutting, and, to the vast amusement of the children, begins to pantomime her need for a whetstone, because the knife is almost uselessly blunt. They run giggling to various drawers and bring her implements that she has never seen before, some of which she suspects should not actually be in a kitchen but rather in a torture chamber. She delights the children with her expressions as they bring her everything but a whetstone.

Selina does not particularly like children, but children are loved by their parents and other bleeding-hearted suckers who can be useful to Selina. And also, children have the wonderful tendency of growing into even more useful adults.

Eventually a whetstone is found and Selina sharpens her knife expertly, and then sharpens all of the knives she can find. She pries one out of the younger woman's hand, sharpens it, and returns it to her. There is a grateful smile on the woman's face when she returns to slicing her potatoes, half-hidden by the sort of scarf that partially covers her face.

Selina washes her hands; she has done enough here for today and does not wish to overstay her welcome. Besides, now she stinks of sweat and garlic and onions and the hose-shower seems like an excellent idea.

One of the ladies presses an orange into Selina's hand as she leaves the kitchen. Selina wishes she knew how to say thank you in her language. An appreciative squeeze of the woman's hand will have to do.

Bane's men have disappeared into their rooms. Selina takes a quick shower to get rid of the day's filth before dinner. There is no hot or cold option; the water that trickles out of the hose can best be described as cool.

It feels damn good.

Selina gives her sweat-soaked tank top and panties a quick wash and puts them back on still slightly wet, which actually has quite a welcome cooling effect. She lets her socks dry and elects to go barefoot for the rest of the night.

Feeling considerably freshened up, Selina decides to dump her things in Piotr's room. He has taken the smallest room on the third floor. Selina makes her way up the stairs, duffle slung over her shoulder – but her progress is interrupted by Bane's wide bulk blocking Piotr's door. He shakes his head at her slowly when she attempts to squeeze by him, mask glinting in the penumbra of the stairwell.

"Not this way, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. He rests a hand on her shoulder to turn her around, heavy, friendly, and deadly all at once.

"Why not?" asks Selina as she shrugs Bane's hand off and backs down the stairs. "I wanted the penthouse suite."

"Piotr is a good man," says Bane, herding her back to the second floor landing. "He is one of _my_ men. Not yours."

"For now," says Selina. Because Piotr might be one of Bane's men, but he will be her lovesick puppy soon.

Bane looks at her hard, and she feels like he is breathing judginess out of his mask. What, he has a problem with her methods now?

"You will sleep there," says Bane, pointing at a room hidden by a half-drawn curtain behind Selina.

Arguing won't get Selina anything except maybe a broken bone, so she doesn't waste her breath. Besides, she can always make a midnight excursion to Piotr's room later.

"Fine," she says with a shrug. "I guess Gorbachev will do just as well."

Bane expels a breath in what sounds like amusement.

"Not Gorbachev," he says with a disconcerting cheerful tone. "Me."

Figures. Selina keeps her face neutral, though this development is not to her liking at all.

"Will I do just as well, Ms. Kyle?" asks Bane. His eyes smile at her; he knows this is an unwelcome surprise.

Selina does not give him the pleasure of confirming it. She gives him a slow once-over, from his thickly-muscled arms to his belt buckle (and interesting proximate body parts) to his dusty boots.

"Not really my type, strictly speaking, but you'll do fine," she says as she stalks to her new quarters. "You'll have to keep the mask on."

VVVVV

There are two frail-looking cots in the room. Selina so doubts their carrying capacity that she folds up hers against the wall, placing the tatty blankets directly on the floor instead. She tosses her duffle into a corner and studies the room. The window (if it is indeed a window and not a vaguely window-shaped hole caused by a bomb) has no glass, only a holey curtain keeping out the elements. It gives onto the front of the house. Selina pokes her head out and looks up and down, scoping out good hand- and foot-holds. There are many; the exterior of the place is in rough shape. Good. Selina likes climbing.

Bane enters the room behind her, announced by his breathing, and Selina decides to make herself scarce. She leaves the room with a quip about complaining to the manager about the bed and heads back to the lower level.

It appears to be just about dinner time. Barsad, Gorbachev and Piotr are all seated at the table. Selina invites herself to sit with them, since none of them are gentlemanly enough to rise and pull out a chair for her (the very thought is hilarious). Farad joins the group a minute later, and then Dal, hair still damp from a shower.

The two women from the kitchens serve a meal. All told, it is quite delicious. They start with some kind of garlicky garbanzo bean dip served with flatbreads. The thick goulash that Selina contributed her onions to makes the main course. The men inhale the food and forgo conversation entirely, so Selina follows suit. She finishes her first bowl in third place (after Gorbachev and Farad) but lags behind in her second bowl and finishes just before slow Barsad.

She is classy enough not to join in the chorus of satisfied belches that follows.

There are dates for dessert, as well as a sweet liquor served in tiny shot glasses. Selina never knew that she liked dates until she tasted these ones, these juicy sweet heavenly creations. Gorbachev and Piotr pause unconsciously in their own enjoyment to listen to the appreciative sounds that Selina makes as she eats them.

In her defense, they are _really_ good.

The women clear the table. Part of Selina wants to help them to continue to build a rapport, but she also has a role to maintain with these men. Domestic chores are really not a part of that role. To them she is the Cat. Infamous burglar, femme fatale. An unknown element added to their team by Bane, for reasons best known to him. (The reasons certainly aren't known to her, anyhow.)

"Bane doesn't eat with you?" asks Selina to the table at large when the dates have been dispatched, a second round of liquor has been served, and a slow conversation has begun.

Dal, Piotr and Farad look fixedly at the table in response to her question. Gorbachev picks something out of his teeth and pretends not to have heard. Barsad meets her eyes and she sees displeasure there.

"He prefers to dine alone," says Barsad curtly. "We do not speak of the subject. You would be wise not to as well."

The mood around the table, so congenial a moment ago, grows cold. Selina learns from this; she will not pose such taboo questions publicly again. These men respect their leader, but they are also evidently scared stiff of him.

"Duly noted," says Selina.

To remedy the sudden stiffness of her dinner-mates, Selina smacks something into the middle of the table. Everyone jumps because the sound resounds like a gunshot in the small, silent room.

Selina lifts her hand to reveal a pack of cards.

"Who wants to get their ass kicked at poker?" asks Selina.

She feels the thaw happen almost instantly; Gorbachev leans forward for the deck, Piotr pulls his chair in more closely, a heated discussion on rules takes place. Everyone's shuffling abilities are roundly insulted. Wagers are made, withdrawn, and made again.

Selina amuses herself by losing the first few rounds badly and letting the men get into a groove. She takes note of their tells, their tendencies, their weaknesses.

Then she whips them all soundly, round after round.

Selina has an _excellent_ poker face.

VVVVV

Since she doesn't actually need Barsad's bullets, or Dal's knife, or Gorbachev's ring, Selina is gracious enough to return her small winnings from the poker game, much to the appreciation of those involved.

"Besides," she says as she pushes the things back across the table to their original owners, "if I actually wanted these things, I would have had them about two hours ago."

This comment gives the men pause; a few surreptitiously check their pockets.

Selina rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. All I took were these, and that's only because Farad gave me attitude."

She holds up a handful of dates wrapped in tissue paper that Farad had secreted earlier. Farad jumps and clutches at his pockets.

"But how…?" asks Piotr. "He was on the other side of the table..."

"Magic," says Selina. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

She pops a date into her mouth and leaves them with a smile and a wink.


	6. Chapter 6

There is a yellowy plastic clock in the stairwell that looks like it was made in Russia in the 1970s. Selina assumes that it still works since it is still hanging there, and that it is therefore 10:30 p.m. in this part of the world. She is heavily jetlagged, but she supposes she ought to at least try to get some sleep since who the hell knows what tomorrow will bring.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she enters her designated bedroom and Bane is not there. There is no smell of his anaesthetic lingering in the air, so he has been gone for a while. There is also no smell of food, so he did not eat in here. Unless he doesn't eat actual food…

Selina decides to sleep fully dressed; she is not stupid enough to do otherwise in this place.

Napping comes easily to Selina; she rarely sleeps in increments longer than 2 hours and tonight is no different. Her internal clock is telling her that it isn't actually night but rather early afternoon, which helps keep her doze brief.

VVVVV

Selina awakens when the light of the bright half-moon outside angles through the window onto her face. It takes her a moment to place herself and remember where the hell she is. This is not an infrequent occurrence with Selina, given her lifestyle choices.

Ah, yes. In the middle of a deserted ghost town, in an unknown country, sharing a room with Bane.

Nothing to worry about here _at all_.

The man in question appears to be sleeping. Selina vaguely remembers hearing him come in at some point. Like her, he has leaned his useless cot up against the wall and is sleeping on the floor. He is shirtless but still has his wide back brace on. His hands are tucked behind his head in lieu of a pillow. Muscles bulge in the shadows even at rest.

The mask is still on and Bane's breathing is slower than Selina has ever heard it and completely regular. Knowing how utterly in control he is all the time, Selina does not trust that he is actually asleep – he _would_ be the type to be able to control his breathing so impeccably as to mimic deep sleep.

Whatever. Selina rolls to a standing position and climbs out of the window. Bane can fake sleep all night long for all she cares. She has things to do, things to see. The white light of the moon is calling to her to explore.

Selina climbs up to the flat roof of the guest house and looks around. The scene is quite desolate. There are maybe fifty buildings in this village, ninety percent of which are in a partially or totally ruined state. Selina tries to identify a church steeple, or a mosque, to help pinpoint her location on the globe, but no tall structures have survived whatever war broke out here.

A breeze picks up and Selina breathes it in deeply. She shivers. It is cold. The desert at night is cold. How strange, how counter-intuitive. Selina can smell moisture dewing on the sandy earth. She presses her hands to the roof and feels heat still emanating from it from the day's sun-baking while the cold breeze raises goosebumps on her arms. A fascinating dichotomy.

Selina sits and lets her bare feet dangle over the edge of the roof. There's another thing: the silence. It is an incredible silence, so paradoxically loud that it almost hurts her ears, an uncomfortable pressure on her eardrums, a vacuum. Gotham is never this quiet; even in its most tranquil hours there is always the distant hum of traffic, of sirens far away, and more subtly the small sounds that make up the lives of millions of people, the radios buzzing, the TVs blaring, the telephones ringing… but those sounds do not exist here, in this ancient part of the world.

Selina does not know which she prefers at this precise moment. She loves Gotham for its unending, bustling, dirty life. But this silence is just sublime.

And the sky is thick with stars that Selina has never seen before.

VVVVV

Selina has dallied enough on the rooftop, enchanted by the nighttime desert, its vastness, its silence. It is time to be doing things. Things like Piotr.

She takes a deep breath of the night air and commits the present moment of peace to memory.

Just as she is about to get up, she hears the sound of inorganic breathing behind her. Thank god it is there to give him away.

"What a lovely, lovely night," says Bane.

Selina looks at Bane over her shoulder and gives him a smile, because she won't show him that he makes her uneasy. "It _is_ a lovely night."

And she is a part of the lovely scene, and she knows it. Knows that she is beautiful, perched here at the end of the world, bathed in moonlight like some lunar nymph, her dark hair cascading in sleep-tousled waves around her face. She sees that he sees it, that glint of want that she has seen in the eyes of a thousand men before.

But, for once in her life, Selina does not want to see that glint in a man's eyes. Because with the thousand other men and their eyes glinting in the dark, she was always the one in control. With this one, it is not so.

"Stealth isn't your forte, is it?" she asks, breaking up the moment with a flippant comment, as is her tendency when she is uncomfortable.

He blinks at her. "I have... other areas of expertise."

Selina wiggles her toes and stares at the dusty alley three stories below. She does not want to be near Bane. She does not want to go back to their shared room. And now he is here, cramping her style, blocking her nefarious designs on Piotr.

"I've never seen so many stars," says Selina conversationally, looking to the skies, as though she doesn't want to push Bane off the roof.

Selina's thoughts align very rarely with the things that she actually says.

An unhealthy habit, probably.

"We are in a dark part of the world," says Bane, looking upward as well. "In many ways, one of the darkest. They shine the brighter for it."

Selina marvels at how he can be so well-spoken for such a thuggish brute.

"Are you from here?" asks Selina, climbing to her feet and dusting herself off.

"In a manner of speaking."

"When you – when you fought the Batman, you said that you were born in the darkness. Were you being literal? Were you born in that prison – the Pit?"

Bane is standing next to her now. He looks down at her and it makes her feel small. He breathes a few slow breaths through the mask before answering.

"I was."

Selina watches his body language carefully, but he has not tensed in annoyance at her questions. So she continues to poke around. "You told him that you didn't leave it until you were already a man. Also true?"

"Yes."

"That explains so much," says Selina.

Bane raises a slow eyebrow.

Selina shrugs. "You're different. That's all."

He does not pursue the topic further, and neither does Selina.

"I'm going to go explore," says Selina.

She doesn't wait for an answer because that would be akin to asking for permission – which Selina never does.

She walks off the edge of the roof.

VVVVV

There isn't much to explore, but it was really a pretext to get herself out of Bane's vicinity. Dusty rooftops, bombed-out buildings, evidence of crippling poverty everywhere. It is a sad little village, forgotten by the world and almost forgotten by the passage of time. (Occasional motor vehicles from the 1960s are the only hint of the 20th century that Selina sees.)

Dawn is greying up the blackness of the eastern sky by the time Selina is back at the guest house. She climbs in through the window in absolute silence. Bane is not in the room.

Since there are no doors, Selina can clearly hear loud snores emanating from the other rooms. Gorbachev and Farad are rooming across the hall and appear to be having a contest to determine who can be the loudest.

Selina guesses that it is about 5:00 a.m. and decides to grab an hour or two of beauty rest before the day begins, if she can sleep through the cacophony of snoring.

VVVVV

The loud banging of pots and pans in the kitchen herald the break of day. Selina takes this as an invitation to rejoin the women there and offer a hand. They are easier to convince this time, presumably because Selina didn't kill anyone with her garlic and onions last night. She is set to cutting fruit while the women prepare an enormous batch of a lumpy kind of porridge.

Selina is meditatively slicing pears when, suddenly, one of the women screams. Selina looks up to see the younger woman hovering around one of the children and clutching at him uselessly. The little boy – barely a toddler – is alternately dry heaving and struggling to inhale.

Seconds pass. The child turns red, then purple, then blue, as his mother sticks her fingers in his mouth, smacks his back, and generally annoys Selina by being hysterical and ineffective.

Apparently, they don't know about the Heimlich maneuver in this part of the world. Selina shoves the mother out of the way and kneels behind the kid, thrusting a fist upwards just above his navel. On the fourth thrust, he convulses and horks out a large piece of fruit that splatters wetly onto the floor.

The boy shakes off the incident within moments and clamours for another piece of orange. Meanwhile, his mother and the older woman are trying to control shaking hands and alternating between scolding the child and holding him tightly. They repeat a word to Selina again and again, hold her hands, dip their heads at her. Selina laughs and waves them away, returning to her pears.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs sends the women running back to their pots. Selina decides to make her exit since her team-mates are up and about.

"Later, ladies," she says, speaking out of habit even if they won't understand her. "We're off to meet some Vilkroff guy today."

Selina is well on her way out the door when she makes her parting comment, but she sees the women's faces change. They look at her with fresh horror.

Hm. Selina pivots and walks back into the room.

"What? Vilkroff?"

The women look at each other. The mother of the child that Selina saved looks warily at the door, pushes it partially shut, then pulls Selina into a corner. Tears stand in her eyes.

"Vilkroff," says the woman in a whisper, shaking her head. A flurry of other words pour out of her mouth, then Vilkroff again.

She points at Selina then draws a forefinger against her throat in the universal gesture for killing. Selina glances at the older woman across the table, who is pale, with a white-knuckle grip on her ladle. The older woman points at the dining room where Bane's men are gathering, and makes the same gesture, finger across throat.

So, apparently Vilkroff is bad news.

Selina is grateful for this intel. She decides to keep it to herself. It's probably more useful to her that way.

She squeezes the women's hands in gratitude, pats the little boy on the head (so useful!) and makes her way to the dining room.

VVVVV

Bane does not eat breakfast with his crew. No surprises there. The men wolf down the porridge and Selina nibbles on some fruit. There is no conversation to speak of, unless slurping counts.

After breakfast, Barsad accompanies Selina up the stairs. "Come to my quarters a moment. I need to brief you on today's plans. We move out this morning."

"Where are we going?"

Barsad pauses and Selina knows he is deciding what information to give her, and what to leave out. "Bane wishes to meet a local warlord. They have soldiers that are of interest to him."

"He's going to import them back to Gotham?"

Barsad smiles. "You put the pieces together quickly."

"So what does Bane offer this warlord in exchange?" asks Selina.

"I do not know. Bane has a lot of leverage in this region. He does not consult me on matters of negotiation here."

He hesitates for a moment. "He… he always gets what he wants. You should know."

There is something in the way that Barsad says this that makes Selina think that he is not only referring to negotiations. She looks at him quizzically, but he does not meet her eye.

Selina is not sure, but she feels that she was just given a warning.

She joins Barsad in his room, where he gives her a short tactical briefing. They are going to drive to Vilkroff's compound, where Dal and Piotr will stay with the truck. Gorbachev, Farad and Barsad will accompany Bane into the compound as far as the warlord's men allow them, and Bane himself will speak to Vilkroff in a private tête-à-tête.

"And I suppose I'm to be involved in this somehow?" asks Selina, because she feels she has been a notable omission thus far in these plans.

"Let me… give you some context about Vilkroff. He has been conducting his operation around here for about ten years. He owes Bane fealty for a favour done long ago – the details don't matter. What matters is that Vilkroff and his closest fighters are all – ah – rather antiquated in their views of women."

Selina raises an eyebrow. "Meaning they think we're useless sacks of meat only good for sex and bearing children?"

"Something like that," says Barsad. "We therefore thought it would be wise to have you accompany Bane as though you were some kind of… assistant. Vilkroff will be paranoid about myself and my team. That is the way these warlords are. But you, he probably won't look at you twice, and if he does it will be to make a distasteful remark."

"So you're asking me to pose as a dumb, pretty assistant?"

"Assistant…" says Barsad, as though it is not quite the right word. But he does not propose a better one. "Yes."

Selina tilts her head at Barsad. "You do realize that I don't work for Bane, right? What's in it for me?"

"I do realize that. However, I hope that you realize that you are not in a strong position to negotiate right now."

Selina crosses her arms, very much prepared to have a long argument about this.

Barsad holds up a hand. "Let us put it this way. You asked me what's in it for you. I would suggest that you are making an… investment in Bane's good will, by assisting him here. He prizes competence. Show him that you are to be prized."

Selina narrows her eyes at him. There is a certain logic to the investment theory. Bane may be of use to her in the future, and being on his good side would no doubt be beneficial. Perhaps this is a sound long-term strategy. And besides – her sunk costs will be minimal. Being pretty is something that comes naturally, and playing dumb is easy. And, you know, she's already here.

Still. She mulls it over long enough that Barsad looks worried that she is going to turn him down.

"Bane is lucky that he has you," says Selina at length. "I doubt that he would have been able to persuade me so easily."

"He has… other methods of persuasion," says Barsad. "It is better this way. For you."

"I see," says Selina. "There's one thing, though. I don't understand Bane's paranoia. If this Vilkroff guy owes him fealty, and whatever other leverage you mentioned, isn't he just going to walk in, ask for the soldiers, and leave?"

Selina keeps an impeccably straight face, as though she was not just informed that Vilkroff is a dangerous snake who plans to kill them all. Because Barsad doesn't really need to know that yet.

"Bane likes to take precautions," answers Barsad. "I have heard from him that you are an able fighter. It is high praise, coming from him."

"So I'm there in case things don't go so smoothly?"

"Yes. We have no reason to believe they won't, but we do like the idea of a… a kind of sleeper agent going in behind Bane and being ready to take action if needed."

Selina has a pretty good idea that she will be needed.

"Are you going to be armed?" she asks.

"Only nominally. We will be searched and stripped of any weapons. You certainly shouldn't carry anything, because it will give his men the utmost pleasure to search you very thoroughly if they suspect that you are hiding something."

"Duly noted," says Selina. "Sounds like a fun bunch."

"There's one other thing…" says Barsad as he sees Selina begin to move to the door. "Bane has asked that you dress the part."

Selina looks down at her tactical gear, her oversized pants and her men's boots. She drops a hip and adopts a sultry pose.

"Isn't this feminine enough for you?" she asks in her most seductive tones.

Barsad delights her by actually looking uncomfortable.

"I think he meant the dress," says Barsad. "From the plane. It will be more – convincing. Women don't dress like men around here."

Selina sighs tragically and leaves, complaining about having to sweat in her beautiful dress.

Back in the mercifully Bane-free room, Selina slips into her dress and fixes herself up; hair, makeup, pearls, shoes. The small hand mirror in her purse-slash-duffle assures her that she looks the part.

The no weapons thing bothers her. Selina pauses pensively and looks at her small arsenal of weapons.

She decides to take her whip. She will not tuck it away somewhere but rather hide it in plain sight. She twists the thin black leather into a loose two-strand braid and loops it around her waist. It makes a very passable belt, that slightly boho kind that is such a thing in Paris right now. The thicker handle rests at the front like an ornamental piece, adorned by twisted leather on both ends. No-one will look at it twice, much less suspect that it is a whip. Because, let's be honest, who uses whips as weapons any more? No-one. Except one killer thief.

Bane's men start packing up the truck. Selina ventures quickly back to the kitchen to say goodbye to the two women whose names she does not know and who may have saved her life.

They know that she is still going to Vilkroff. Their faces are drawn and grim and, when they watch Selina leave, she feels like a dead man walking.

Dal starts the truck and the men and Selina hop into the back. Well, Selina doesn't quite hop; due to the dress and shoes, she has to clamber and is given a boost by Gorbachev, who is very glad to push her up by the ass. He lets his hand linger too long and almost receives a Jimmy Choo heel in the mouth for his troubles, which the rest of the men find highly amusing.

Covert glances at Selina are stolen here and there, presumably due to her metamorphosis from dirty military hardass back to fashionable uptown girl. She knows she's a lovely piece of eye-candy and does not grudge them the looks.

It is 7:30 a.m. and already sweltering outside. Bane arrives from god-knows-where a few minutes after everyone is ready. Selina hears him giving instructions to Dal through the truck's tarp, then he climbs into the back.

Bane's men are not given a passing glance, but Selina is carefully observed. She tilts her head at him, a silent question. He nods his approval, once.

Barsad engages him in conversation and there is no further exchange between them for the duration of the voyage.


	7. Chapter 7

_Inspiration image for this chapter: Selina's magnificent theatrics. http://imgur.com/p9Fpi0R  
_

VVVVV

Vilkroff's compound is very military in flavour, with a sprinkle of old Soviet. The place is a bunker, mostly underground, with disorienting passages that all look the same. There are armed sentries everywhere.

As Barsad hoped, Selina is easily introduced as a downtrodden personal assistant and no real questions are raised about her being there. She plays the part well, staring at the ground with rounded shoulders, looking afraid, stealing shy glances at the men. She is casually searched by an idiot who doesn't even glance at her fancy belt twice. Selina manages to blush and look uncomfortable when he gropes her chest and thighs. She cooly considers how she will kill him, when the time comes.

Barsad, Gorbachev and Farad, on the other hand, are thoroughly searched, relieved of their weapons, then asked to wait in a low-ceilinged room with drinks and small bowls of food.

The atmosphere is a little tense, but Vilkroff's men appear to be making every effort to be courteous – not that Selina can understand what they and Bane's men are saying to each other, but you know.

Bane himself is given an extremely wide, overly-polite berth. He is ushered down a long hallway by a senior-looking officer after he holds open his shirt to show that he is not concealing anything but his perennial bulletproof vest.

Selina matches his stride as they proceed down the hall. It feels extremely comforting, somehow, to be walking next to the formidable presence of Bane and know that they are on the same side, however temporarily. It is an odd feeling to Selina – she always works alone.

The officer disappears around a corner and the rearguard is a dozen steps behind. Selina takes advantage of the private moment by sidestepping closer to Bane and addressing him in a hushed voice. "So… you know this is a trap, right?"

"I do not _know_ ," says Bane, his restless eyes searching the corridor. "I may _suspect_."

Selina feels that she has done her due diligence and says nothing more. But she does not suspect; she _knows_.

They reach a room with a reinforced steel door. The officer gestures Bane and Selina in and shuts the door behind them.

Selina peers around like the timid assistant she is supposed to be. They are in a kind of office, dimly-lit, with maps on the walls and all sorts of paperwork piled up in corners.

"Vilkroff!" says Bane genially. He shakes hands with the man seated behind the desk. A middle-aged man, thin and wiry in build.

Selina sizes Vilkroff up and decides that he looks like a tough old goat who has seen some shit and endured worse. She also wouldn't trust him with the life of her worst enemy. His eyes are too cunning.

Vilkroff spares Selina a cursory glance as she seats herself at a remove from the desk and takes out a notepad.

Bane and Vilkroff speak in a mixture of English and that other language, shifting back and forth every few sentences. Vilkroff's accent is decidedly Eastern European to Selina's ear. She catches a few sentences and pretends to take notes – 500 men, mercenaries, payment, no payment, repayment of a debt, fair exchange…?

Selina stares at her illegible notes and decides it's a good thing she's a professional thief and not actually a personal assistant.

Vilkroff makes a joke and laughs at it by himself. Then he points to Selina and says something else accompanied by what he no doubt thinks is a roguish grin.

Selina remembers that she is supposed to be scared, not planning escape routes, and manages to look worried.

"Not that one," says Bane without turning to look at her. "That one I keep for myself."

"A similar model, then," says Vilkroff.

They slip back into the other language. Selina's keen ears pick up the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway. At least three men, plus the officer who is still standing guard. She shifts in her seat and loosens her whip-belt just a touch when Vilkroff's attention is turned away.

The men in the hall are not speaking to each other, just standing. Just standing, as though waiting for a signal.

Bane and Vilkroff's conversation turns gradually to something more akin to a disagreement. Vilkroff is insisting on _fair exchange_ , Bane is insisting on _repayment_. It appears that their terms are not quite aligning. Selina watches the conversation ping-pong back and forth between them, until Bane slowly rises to his feet. He is radiating disappointment, disapproval, and very controlled anger. He says a few words which, from their tone, sound like a final offer, or else.

Vilkroff leans back in his chair and shakes his head no. He reiterates his own final offer.

The room is utterly silent, save for the sound of Bane's calm filtered breathing. Selina sees the fingers of his right hand twitch in a kind of anticipatory tic.

"My friend," says Bane. "You have made a grave mistake in breaking your word."

Vilkroff smoothes the desk in front of him. "You must understand. Circumstances have changed."

"A man's word is everything."

Vilkroff smiles silkily. "Honourable. But we disagree on this point. You will not give me what I need... but the price on your head will buy me everything I want."

Vilkroff has pulled a gun and cocked it with impressive rapidity. He points it at Bane's face.

"I'm curious… is the mask bulletproof?" asks Vilkroff.

He pulls the trigger in the same moment as Selina's whip snakes out of nowhere and wraps around the barrel. Several things happen at once: the bullet embeds itself harmlessly into the ceiling, the pistol is whipped back to Selina's hand, and four men burst into the room, bristling with guns.

Selina collapses against the wall and starts screaming like an idiotic hysterical woman. The men immediately discount her without even being aware that they are doing it, and focus their attention – and guns – on Bane.

For two of them, it is the last mistake they will ever make. Selina redecorates the floor with their brains as she takes them out with two contact shots to the back of the head.

The officer, one guard, and Vilkroff remain. Bane moves, and his skill is such that seeing him kill the officer and the guard is art to Selina's eyes.

Vilkroff is pawing desperately at a drawer under his desk, seeking an alarm button or another weapon. Selina's whip sings through the air and kisses him across the eyes. It takes him a moment to feel the pain of it and then realize that his eyelids have been split open.

Before he can start to scream, the whip is around his neck and Selina has braced herself to jerk it and deliver the coup de grâce.

Bane's large hand wraps around her wrist.

"This one stays alive," he says.

Selina stomps a heel impatiently. She is so on right now, she wants to finish this guy. Adrenaline and killing instincts.

Bane's grip on her forearm tightens and brings her back to herself.

"Fine," she spits. "But I'm keeping him on the leash. If he squeaks, he's dead."

Bane releases his grip slowly, as though he does not quite trust her to not crush Vilkroff's trachea where he stands. He addresses Vilkroff. "You heard this, my old friend? I hope for your sake you do not call out. It would be… unwise in your current predicament."

Vilkroff may or may not have heard; he is alternately grasping at the viciously tight leather around his throat and groping at his bleeding eyes. He lets out breathy whimpers but does not cry out.

Maybe his vocal chords are already gone. Oops.

Bane arms himself with two of the fallen guards' assault rifles and hands a fresh pistol to Selina. He gestures towards the door.

"He walks in front of you. I take the rear."

Selina rolls her eyes. "Of course you do."

"Do not shoot unless you must. I need the men here."

Somehow, Bane manages to get them out of there alive. He talks his way out of the bunker, with Vilkroff as his hostage and two assault rifles ready to talk business if anyone disagrees. Selina thinks that the men here must already know him by reputation if not personally; his charisma and aura of power do the rest. The men take one glance at their fallen leader, and one glance at Bane, with his mask and his brutal build and his air of command, and they are magnetically drawn to him.

Bane releases Gorbachev, Barsad and Farad from the waiting room that apparently became a cell as soon as Bane and Selina left. The three of them arm themselves and they continue their slow journey out of the bunker. Barsad gets a good look at the whimpering Vilkroff's bloody face and raises his eyebrows at Selina.

Behind them, a line of Vilkroff's men forms. All are armed, none shoot.

Bane has a penchant for the dramatic, for speeches. Selina is therefore not surprised that, when they reach the courtyard outside of the bunker, Bane speaks to the men gathered around him. He speaks of Gotham, its glories, its corruptions, its spoils just waiting to be taken. Selina knows a little about these spoils, of course – but even she is moved a little by his words. He speaks of Vilkroff's lack of ambition, his meanness of spirit, the way that he is keeping these men from embracing the larger world. He invites them to join him, all who are there and all who are in the outlying villages, earning nothing in this land of heat and dust. Join him to take over a bloated, rich city, and enjoy its gifts with him.

Vilkroff is killed almost in passing by Bane as his men cheer.

Selina retreats to the truck, where Dal and Piotr are watching.

"He's good," she says to the two of them.

They nod and stare at their leader with the light of devotion in their eyes. Selina was referring to Bane's ability as a speaker, his compellingness – but she sees that they see him as Good with a capital G, something beyond…

Selina looks at Piotr, his eyes shining with worship, and wonders if she ever had a chance to use him for her own purposes. How can you compete with a god?

She watches Bane and his new army. She doesn't understand it, this willingness, this need, to follow and serve somebody else. These men, Dal and Piotr, and Gorbachev and Farad and Barsad, and soon all of these hundreds of other men, they will all be willing to die for Bane.

It is incomprehensible to Selina. She doesn't serve Bane, or good, or evil. She only serves herself. She would only die for herself.

And even then, she isn't sure that she's worth the sacrifice.

Bane and Barsad pull some leaders from Vilkroff's men and speak with them at length.

Selina wonders if she owes it to Gotham to warn the city about this incoming flux of hardened soldiers.

Does she owe Gotham anything at all?

VVVVV

It is night by the time they drive back to the guest house. Bane does not wish to overnight at the compound which is now his; according to Barsad there may still be one or two loyal to Vilkroff in the place, and it isn't worth the risk. Apparently they will be ferreted out and put down shortly.

The two women from the kitchens actually cry when Selina pokes her head in and waves cheerfully.

Selina is sure that Vilkroff's reign in the region has been cruel, so they have good reason to be glad it's over. But she is not sure that Bane will be a benign ruler. Not even remotely.

Selina shares war stories with the men over dinner. They want more information on the belt, on the whip, on how she uses it. They are fascinated by the story of Vilkroff's treachery, of Bane's rescue by her hand.

Selina laughs. "I hope I was worth bringing all the way here."

"Utterly."

Everyone jumps, because it is his voice that carries this one word through the dining area.

Bane is in the shadowy hallway, leaning against the wall in the most relaxed manner. How long he has been lingering there, listening, Selina does not know. She did not hear him amid the laughter, the clash of cutlery, the talking.

She smiles prettily at him for the compliment – mostly because she isn't sure what to say. Everyone else is staring at her with a kind of awe.

It's making her very uncomfortable.

"So, anyway… poker, anyone?"

VVVVV

Much to the discomfort of the men, Selina tries to convince Bane to join them for poker. He does not deign to answer her and disappears upstairs to drink the blood of infants or whatever it is he does to feed himself.

Bane's men have learned from the night before and are far more modest in their betting than previously.

"Pathetic," says Selina, looking at the pot's slim pickings.

"We could play strip poker," suggests Gorbachev with a leer at Selina.

Selina turns slowly to look at him.

"Or we could... not," says Gorbachev.

"That's right," says Selina. "Unless you really want to see your beautiful colleagues here naked. Because I'm way too good at this game to shed clothes."

Everyone recoils at the thought and Selina laughs.

"On second thought… maybe we _should_."


	8. Chapter 8

As midnight approaches, Selina leaves the men to lick their wounds after another devastating round of poker. She showers and retreats to her room, dressed once more in her stolen combat pants and tank top. It's not quite as sexy as her catsuit, but it's a hell of a lot more practical than the dress.

There is an awkward moment when she waltzes into the usually empty room and finds Bane already stretched out on his makeshift bed on the floor.

"Oops," she says as she brushes him with her foot, accidentally-on-purpose. "Sorry."

She doesn't know why she did it, really. She had plenty of space to not do it. But she is in a victorious mood, and she may have had a few too many sips of that sweet anise-flavoured liquor at dinner. Or the heat of the day is finally getting to her, or the adrenaline in her system is finally petering out and making her giddy.

She killed two men today, maybe she needs a laugh.

Bane cracks open an eye to glare at Selina, and for some reason she can barely hold back a giggle.

It's definitely the liquor.

She grabs her toothbrush and pokes him again with her foot on the way out to the bathroom. Bane re-opens his eyes and looks irritated, but says nothing.

Selina brushes her teeth and washes up. The cool water gives her time to sober up a little before she returns to the room. Bane looked annoyed and she needs to straighten up and remember that he is Bane.

She gives him a wide berth when she returns to the room and makes for her own bed.

Her reflexes are such that he only barely, barely manages to grab hold of her ankle before she dodges. He is freaking fast.

"I said I was sorry," says Selina.

She wisely decides not to move, because she does not want a broken ankle.

"You should choose more carefully," says Bane.

"What?"

"When you decide to tease someone. And who."

It's very dramatic. Selina tries not to roll her eyes. "I like to live dangerously."

And Bane, well. Bane likes to be taken seriously. She remembers this when he grips her ankle harder.

"That hurts," says Selina with a pout. "Play nice."

She hears a huff of breath emerge through the mask.

"Play?" says Bane. "I am not accustomed to that particular activity."

A corner of Selina's mouth lifts into a smile. "If you were any other man in the world, I'd teach you a million meanings of the word."

It's true.

"And yet I am not."

"No," says Selina. "You aren't."

"So you will not even teach me one?" he asks.

Selina is not sure, but she thinks he's coming onto her.

Shit just got _weird_.

"I'd rather not die in the process," says Selina.

"You won't die. Not yet."

"Let me go then," says Selina. "And we'll play a game."

Bane releases her slowly. Like the contact is something that he enjoys, but does not want to admit to enjoying by prolonging it, touching, caressing…

Selina remembers that this monstrous man was in a prison literally from birth till adulthood, when he ran off to join a gang of murderous psychopaths. Maybe he has some serious stunting in certain areas of development. Such as women.

Selina melts to a seated position beside Bane and props her elbows onto his chest and her chin in her hands. She looks down at him. The smell of his anaesthetic is strong at this level of proximity.

"Let's play Selina's version of twenty questions," says Selina. "The question is, what's under the mask?"

"I am not sure you want the answer," says Bane. His voice is low, she feels it through his chest. Gravel and camphor mingled.

"Shh," says Selina, placing a finger on the mask in lieu of Bane's lips. "Yes or no answers only. That's the game."

Bane tenses crazily as she touches the mask, so she quickly withdraws her finger and distracts him with a question. "Do you have a nose?"

Bane's eyes are narrowed. "We are not playing this game."

Selina pushes her lips into a disappointed moue. "You're no fun at all."

"I have underestimated you," says Bane. "I thought you were a jewel thief and a pickpocket, but you also deal in information."

Selina smirks down at him. She has collapsed her elbows now so that her chest is brushing his, her forearms are flat against his chest, her chin still propped in her hands. She is surprised at her own nerve for getting this close to him, but then again, these movements are second nature to her; small seductions are her daily bread.

"I do deal in information," says Selina. "But only for myself."

"You do not work for anybody," says Bane. It is a statement, not a question.

"No," says Selina.

"Are you not working for me?"

Selina shakes her head.

"Yet you saved me from a bullet today. Why?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart," says Selina. She tries to keep a straight face as she looks down at Bane, but can't help the laugh that escapes her. Who is she kidding, she doesn't have any goodness in her heart. And if she did, it wouldn't be wasted on Bane.

"Do you really want an answer to that?" she asks when she has sobered up.

"Yes."

"Because you might be useful to me later," says Selina.

Bane looks pensively at the ceiling. "I understand. That is the same reason why I have kept you alive."

"You work for someone, though," says Selina.

"Do I?" asks Bane. There is amusement in the query, as though she has just said something naive and sweet.

Selina tilts her head at him, hesitant for just a moment. "Yes... Daggett. You told me."

Bane actually _chortles_. Selina feels it rumble through his chest, hears the uncommon sound of it emerge from the mask in a rush of staticky glee.

His eyes are smiling at her.

"It is a good joke," he says.

Selina raises an eyebrow. "Explain."

"He has money. He has infrastructure that is necessary to me. He is useful, for now. So I allow him to pay me."

"Generous of you," says Selina.

"He is paying me to buy more days of life for himself, though he does not know it yet. I think it is a fair trade."

"Not unlike the trade you offered me, at first," says Selina.

"Yes." Bane stretches an arm upwards and brings it to rest on Selina's back. "I will not need him for much longer. You, I will keep alive."

"Oh, _goody_ ," says Selina drily.

She taps a finger thoughtfully on Bane's chest. "If you don't work for him… will you tell me what was in the safe?"

Bane looks at her. His eyes smile again. Apparently, Selina is an endless fount of delight right now. "Ah. The safe."

"... So?"

"It contained the profits from some of Daggett's less… savory side businesses. A million in cash."

"A million?! Son of a bitch," says Selina, thumping her fist on his chest.

"It is all gone now, I fear."

Selina narrows her eyes at him. Thieving bastard. "You owe me. I opened it for you."

"I _am_ a mercenary," says Bane. "Sometimes I pay myself."

Selina is pissed. That was some cool cash that was swiped from her.

"It is a strange thing," continues Bane, looking at the ceiling. "Daggett opened the safe some time later, and found a paper with a sad little man drawn on it. And all the money gone. We did not know what to make of it."

There is murder in Selina's eyes, which seems to amuse Bane all the more.

"I could have used that money."

"For what, Ms. Kyle? More precious purses?"

"Yes, actually. And shoes."

He doesn't need to know about the substantial, anonymous donations to Gotham's orphanages, women's shelters, animal rescues… the nameless acts of kindness that Selina makes in the hopes that they might buy her a little piece of heaven, later, if such a place exists.

Selina pushes herself off of Bane.

"What is it, Ms. Kyle? I thought we were playing."

"Play with yourself," spits Selina. "You're in my debt twice over now. Once for your life, twice for that money."

She does not wait for an answer. She vaults out of the window to stalk the village's dead streets, fuming silently.

VVVVV

Selina does not forgive or forget. But she is not stupid enough to remain angry at Bane, at least not to his face. So she is civil with him when she sees him after breakfast the next morning, briefing his men on the day's activities.

These activities mostly exclude Selina. It's all planning and logistics stuff; apparently it's not all that easy to smuggle 500 heavily armed men into the United States.

Days pass. Selina explores the village, hangs out with the children in the kitchen, helps with food. Steals things here and there and gives them to others here and there. Works on her tentative friendships with Bane's crew. Takes a lot of naps.

Just when Selina has decided that she might as well start walking back to Gotham, Barsad pulls her aside.

"We leave tomorrow," he says. "There were some… loose ends that needed to be tied, but that is now done. Bane is eager to return to Gotham."

"Can't blame him, now that he has his army."

Barsad smiles. "Yes. It will take some time for them to arrive, of course, we are streaming them in in small groups. But they are good men. Good fighters."

"Does Gotham deserve this?" asks Selina. "I don't really care, personally, but…"

Barsad shrugs. "It is not my place to philosophize on such questions. I serve Bane."

Selina is a touch disappointed. She had hoped there was a little more to Barsad than that.

VVVVV

The return to Gotham is uneventful. A few of Bane's new men join them in the jet for the journey. Tough men, hardened mercs, killers. Selina thinks of Gotham's police force, rife with young lads who have been policing for the last eight easy years under the Dent Act. How soft they are compared to Bane's army.

They land in Gotham in the dead of night. The airstrip looks different to the one that they departed from originally, it is even smaller and more remote. There are no lights on in any of the buildings and Selina suspects the staff has probably met the same fate as those at the other airport.

She bites her lip as the men make their way to a convoy of Escalades that is waiting for them. The entire place is dead quiet. So, nothing new here, Bane is ruthless and has no real regard for human life. Selina doesn't especially either, mind you. But, though her moral code is… ambiguous at best, she usually kills for a decent enough reason, and the convenience of a nighttime landing is not a decent enough reason to off a dozen innocent civilians.

No-one else seems to give a damn, so Selina walks casually to the Escalades and also pretends not to give a damn.

She ends up with Piotr, Gorbachev, and three new guys. The new guys, like Bane's men at first, are intensely suspicious of her. They know what she did to Vilkroff and it fundamentally clashes with their (very limited, archaic) understanding of females and what they are capable of. Selina is happy to add to their confusion by flirting with them for the full three hours of the road trip. Because it's never a bad thing to have a few more guys a little bit in love with you. She makes sure Piotr and Gorbachev in the front seats don't feel left out.

A few hours later, and everyone disembarks in the underground parking lot of Wayne Enterprises.

Selina is a touch anxious about what happens next: Bane originally brought her on this trip to stop her from blabbing to Bruce Wayne's friends about his whereabouts. Now they are back in Gotham. Now what?

Bane seems to read her mind and makes his way to her amid the bustle of cargo being unloaded from the vehicles.

"I'm going to head home," says Selina with a little more bravado than she feels. "It's been two weeks. I've got things to do."

"Certainly," says Bane.

Selina is nonplussed.

"So… you're just going to let me walk away?"

"Yes," says Bane, genial and unconcerned.

Selina blinks. "But – you took me halfway around the world to make sure I wouldn't talk. And now you're letting me go?"

"You wouldn't believe it was for the sheer pleasure of your company?" Bane says with smiling eyes.

"Not for a damn second," says Selina.

Bane hooks his hands comfortably into the collar of his bulletproof vest and holds her gaze.

"Do you know what happened to the Batman?" he asks.

"Yes…"

"Do you know where he is?"

Selina hesitates. "Well, I know he's in the Pit, obviously. But I don't know where the Pit is."

"Then by all means, Ms. Kyle. Tell everyone you like."

Bane escorts her to the stairwell with a hand in the small of her back. Selina does not flinch, but it is a close thing.

He holds the door open for her. "Go on. Tell Gotham that their saviour is gone."


	9. Chapter 9

_Inspiration images:_

_Selina's glorious eyeroll: http://imgur.com/oiRCOt4  
_

_Thoughtful Selina on an autumn night: http://imgur.com/ApAWF9g  
_

VVVVV

Selina hasn't missed too much. Her sole roommate, Jen, in house number one, was a touch worried, but Selina has disappeared for longer and with even less notice before, so she didn't even bother to send a text. Thanks Jen.

Over the next week, Selina revisits her usual haunts, makes sure that she is seen by the right people and not seen by the rest, corrects a few territory breaches a little violently, and generally enjoys being home again.

One night, when Selina is tidying up at house number three, she finds the card of William Baker, the VP of Daggett Industries that she met at Daggett's house party. She didn't notice it at the time, but he scrawled "looking forward to seeing you again" under his number.

She taps the card pensively on her lower lip.

Yes. She will call him. She has heard Bane's side of the story, about his relationship with Daggett. Selina would like to hear the other side. With a few more details than what the perpetually cryptic Bane offers her.

Mr. Baker ( _call me William, please, I insist_ ) is delighted to hear from her again. Has she been busy? He has not seen her around at all. How about they meet up for drinks? Drinks would be delightful...

They meet at a jazz lounge that Saturday and drink and chitchat. Selina finds out that Daggett was found dead in his house two nights ago, his neck broken. No arrests have been made and the police is stumped. Selina acts suitably shocked. Mostly she is just annoyed that his safe will no longer generate revenue for her.

Selina lets William take her to his place, and then the real work starts, when his guard is down and he has four glasses of wine in him. Selina questions him so gently and skillfully that he hasn't a damn clue what sensitive information he is giving out. He is just complaining about work, but is helped along in the right direction by Selina's soft prods here and there (and her soft hands elsewhere).

So as it turns out, Daggett's infrastructure has been useful to Bane because Daggett has monopolized basically every construction contract in the city. And all of these new builds, and these renos, all have one thing in common. Concrete. And, funny thing, Daggett Industries changed up their concrete provider some time in the last year. William goes on about this at length, slightly slurring his words... they didn't consult him on the change and the new company, Broucek Cement, uses a new formula... he isn't sure about its durability. The Board didn't approve it, they don't even know. Daggett himself was very squirrelly about the change, he said he knew the guy, that it's good stuff. But who laces Nitroglycerin into their concrete?

Who, indeed?

VVVVV

William falls asleep in mid-sentence as they are cuddling post-coitally on the bed. Selina pushes him off of her and looks at him in distaste. It is possible that William will be of no further use to her. But it's also possible that he could still serve a purpose. So Selina dresses, writes him a note thanking him for a wonderful evening, tucks him in, and leaves him a tall glass of water and an Advil. All signs that she cares.

He still doesn't have her number, and he never will.

There is nothing really worth stealing in the house, so Selina leaves by the front door. An unusual feeling for her, being so legitimate as to leave by the front door at two in the morning.

She considers taking a cab home, but the night air is cool on her cheeks, just beginning to hint at autumn. Besides, she hasn't prowled the streets of William's fancy neighbourhood of Queen's Garden in a long time.

She is glad that she decided to walk, because in crossing the street she realizes that someone was watching the house.

"Please don't hit me."

It is Barsad's voice that emerges from the shadows. Selina is angry; he has absolutely no business being here, monitoring her movements.

"I warned Bane a while ago that I'd kill any rats he sent after me," says Selina. Her voice is cold and dangerous.

Barsad holds his hands up and steps out of the shadows, showing that he is unarmed. "Easy, easy. Would you believe that I just happened to be in the neighbourhood?"

"There's no such thing as coincidence with Bane."

"You are right, of course," says Barsad. He gives her a small smile. "May I walk with you? Unless you wish to kill me first."

Selina gives him a frosty glare, but allows him to walk beside her.

"...I don't suppose you would tell me why you are seducing Daggett's VP Finance?" asks Barsad.

"Oh, is that who that was?"

Barsad gives Selina a look. She returns it coolly.

"Alright," says Barsad. "I guess you just liked his face."

"And his Bugatti."

A grin flashes across Barsad's face and is gone just as quickly. Barsad is a serious guy.

"I don't suppose you would tell _me_ why you're watching me seduce Daggett's VP Finance?" asks Selina.

"I would, actually. Bane has asked me to deliver a message to the lovely Ms. Kyle."

Selina rolls her eyes at _the lovely Ms. Kyle_.

Barsad shrugs. "His words."

"Great. I've been waiting for him to pay me back what he owes me."

Barsad's step falters and he looks uncertain. "I don't know anything about that."

"That's not what you're here for?"

"I'm afraid not, but–"

"Then we can't _possibly_ have anything to discuss."

Selina turns on her heel and stalks away.

She knows she has the whole cat thing going on, but sometimes, she can be a bit of a bitch.

Barsad trots after her. "Wait. Ms. Kyle. I do not know what this debt is, but would saving your life count as repayment?"

"Only partially," says Selina. She slows, then stops, because Barsad looks like a worried puppy. "Talk. I'm listening."

Barsad catches up to her. "You may or may not know, but there's a big game next week. Football."

No, Selina doesn't know, because who actually cares about team sports. "So?"

"If I may be colloquial, shit's going to go down. I hope I used the expression correctly."

Selina frowns, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "What kind of shit?"

"To be brief… Gotham will be plunged into chaos. And I mean chaos." Barsad smiles briefly at her. "Sometimes, Bane can be theatrical in his expressions, but here, chaos is the correct word."

"What does Bane hope to achieve, exactly, with his chaos?"

Barsad shrugs. "Unfinished business with the League of Shadows. I do not know more. But I do know that this city is going to be altered forever. It will no longer be safe."

Selina turns away. "I can take care of myself."

"As you say. But I have nevertheless been instructed to extend you an open invitation to make your home in the Wayne Enterprises tower. It is our current base of operations. You may refuse, of course... but, either way, it would be wise for you to go there, however briefly, for 3:30 on Sunday afternoon. There will be quite a bit of… collateral damage, in other parts of the city. And you will be safe there."

Selina looks into Barsad's light eyes and sees only sincerity there.

"Tell him I'll think about it," says Selina.

"I am sure he expected nothing more from you."

Barsad gives her a respectful nod and they part ways.

Selina walks on, her pace slow, her face thoughtful. It's funny. Over the course of her life, she has received a lot of offers of protection, of safety, promises to keep her out of harm's way, from dozens of men.

This is the first time she thinks that she may actually need it.

Selina walks the streets of Queen's Garden, where many of Gotham's wealthy make their homes. Their ostentatious fronts offend her tonight, with their pseudo-Greek pillars, their manicured lawns, their outrageously expensive vehicles crouched behind high gates.

Should she tell someone about the concrete?

She looks at the houses, the three-story monstrosities housing the rich, the vehicles worth more than enough to feed a family for five years, the lawns and fountains and pools that use up more water in a day than most Lowertown folks use in a month...

… No. No, she won't tell anyone about the concrete.

She's curious about the chaos.

VVVVV

Selina shows up at Wayne Tower at 3:15 on Sunday afternoon. She experiences no trouble getting in past the armed guards. They welcome her extremely politely and direct her to the seventh floor. Barsad must have circulated a description of her.

On the seventh floor, a large boardroom has been transformed into a kind of lounge where Bane's men are all sitting around, facing a large flatscreen TV. Selina takes her place among them, earning a smile of recognition from Dal among the dozens of men she doesn't know. The others from Bane's core crew are not there. Dal tells her that they are with Bane today and seems a touch jealous.

The chatter in the room dies down gradually as the game is about to begin. Everyone directs their attention to the TV when the national anthem is sung by a young boy.

Then all hell breaks loose.

The boardroom has a panoramic view of the city, and Selina briefly wonders if a gigantic volcano under Gotham has exploded. Chunks of rock, concrete, and buildings, blow up everywhere on the horizon simultaneously. Selina watches City Hall's top get blown off, the police station crumble, bridges explode, all-glass condominiums shatter.

And people die. Many, many people die, in the space of two seconds.

Selina is exceptionally glad that she accepted Bane's invitation to come here today, because she could easily have been one of them.

"That Piotr," says Dal proudly as the last explosions subside. "He is so good with remote detonations…"

Selina no longer thinks that Piotr is a cute dork. He's a mass murderer. With poor social skills.

She has barely managed to close her hanging jaw when the TV demands her attention by rattling with the sound of another explosion. This time it is the football field that is the victim, instantly blasted into nonexistence. You can tell that the camera was hit by the aftershock of the blast; the screen goes black for a moment.

When the camera feed resumes, who else but Bane is walking onto the field, surrounded by Barsad and company.

Bane is rocking a pretty sweet coat.

He picks up a discarded mic and speaks. His voice is amplified and even more robotic than usual through the speakers of the enormous stadium. Selina listens attentively. So… turns out Bane has a giant nuclear bomb that could go off at any time. He also just killed some physicist on live TV.

Bane makes a grandiose speech about being a liberator, returning control of the city to the people. About martial law. Claiming what is rightfully yours.

Selina remembers those ostentatious high-gated houses in Queen's Garden. And all of the other enclaves of wealth scattered here and there in Gotham like palaces amid mud huts.

Selina doesn't necessarily believe Bane's words, doesn't believe these things are rightfully hers, but she will nevertheless stake some claims.

She does so that night, and the night after that. But, honestly, it kind of takes the fun out of the thieving game to know that the homeowners are dead, killed by a mob twelve hours prior, their corpses bobbing gently in their beautiful infinity pool.

VVVVV

Not only does Bane blast Gotham to hell and back, he also frees the prisoners from Blackgate Prison. A thousand men are thus added to Bane's army, wearing their orange uniforms like a badge of honour.

Selina is not thrilled with this development. She put a good number of those men in prison herself, and most of the rest – the rapists, the murderers – really ought to stay locked up. Many guilty of lesser crimes were denied parole under the Dent Act and will fight to the death for Bane against their perceived oppressors.

Once Bane has declared martial law, things change for the worse in Gotham. It does not take long for Selina to decide that she is no longer safe in her various homes. To her great annoyance, all of her turf lines vanish with Bane's new order. New gangs form, everyone steals from everyone, everyone becomes a squatter on someone else's property.

Home number one, the walk-up in Old Town that she shares with Jen, has become a party house, full of anarcho-wannabe idiots who spend their days in a state of drugged confusion. Selina lets Jen have the place to herself; it stinks.

She moves to home number two. She kills three men who were dumb enough to squat there in her absence, then tried to attack her for reclaiming it. The next day, two doped-up women break in while she's asleep and come at her with knives; she kills them as well. Home number two is not in a good neighbourhood and Selina decides that it is not worth the hassle if she wants to sleep in peace this year.

She moves on to home number three, a small flat above a grocery store in Chinatown. The shop below was abandoned many weeks ago and has been looted several times since. There was a flood at some point, and now the place reeks of rot and mold. And there are rats. Everywhere. When she enters the apartment, their nasty diseased bodies scurry away under her bed, into kitchen cupboards, behind the TV. Their droppings and filthy scent fill the place. And of course, no exterminators work in Gotham any more.

Very well. Home number four then, her favourite of them all and therefore the least used, since she never wanted it compromised. It is a high-end condo downtown, small but extremely modern.

Selina gets a sinking feeling as she drives up to the place in a stolen Mercedes. The building is not especially tall, only twelve stories, but it should be looming over her by now. But no. Now it is merely a pile of rubble, having succumbed to one of Piotr's detonations on the day of the football game.

Selina's nostrils flare in annoyance as her nails grip the leather steering wheel. One would have thought that four bolt holes would be enough for a single gal like her. Apparently not.

Selina revisits each home and packs up her most prized possessions (in no particular order: weapons, clothes, shoes) into the car. With a bitter taste in her mouth, she makes for Wayne Enterprises. Apparently, if she ever wants to sleep again, she can't be a one-man team right now.

Selina is thankful that she had the foresight a long time ago to place her most valuable pilfered jewelry and gems, and her not insignificant savings, in a selection of Swiss banks across the pond. All the rest is replaceable.

So Selina takes Bane up on his open invitation to move into the Wayne building. It is a huge tower, 55 stories high, filled at its peak with over 2,000 employees. There is therefore ample space for Bane's 500-odd men plus the dozens of released convicts who make their way there. Selina explores the building carefully before selecting a space for herself; she wants a quiet floor, and relatively easy roof access. Floor 53 it is.

Some Wayne Enterprises VP had a sweet corner office up here, with a private bathroom and a breathtaking view of Gotham. The view is even more breathtaking now, but for all the wrong reasons. Pillars of smoke stain the sky, cars are piled up on the sides of the roads to make room for Bane's tumblers and tanks, and here and there, a body lies untended on the street. Now and again military aircraft zip across the skyline on recon missions, but none dare land due to Bane's bomb threat.

Selina has some squabbles with her new neighbours on the 53rd floor, which is pretty normal for her, and then makes herself quite at home. Meals are served in what used to be the employee cafeteria, mostly field rations, but eh – it's food. There is a gymnasium, pool, showers – all of the amenities an employee, or a merc, or a thief, could want, really.

It's a decent life, but what sticks out to Selina as she moves in is that she could not endure the chaos. She has retreated to this enclave of order to feel safe and comfortable. So it turns out she's not an anarchist after all. Selina is not happy with what Bane has done to Gotham.

She lives at Wayne Enterprises for a few weeks before encountering Bane again. He is apparently quite busy running this discombobulated, dying mess of a city.

In the meantime, she gets to know his new guys and flirts with everyone. It is odd, but none of the men – Bane's core group, or his new ones – ever make a move on her. This is highly unusual in Selina's experience. Someone always ends up thinking he is special, or just decides to force the issue. The arrogant ones, the Gorbachev all know where she sleeps, they all know her rather promiscuous reputation. But none of them make a move, even Vilkroff's former soldiers who were by all accounts absolute pigs.

Selina remarks on this in passing to Barsad one night when they're eating dinner together.

Barsad looks at her as though she's stupid. "Obviously."

"Obviously what?"

"Obviously they will not try anything."

"But… why?"

Barsad looks hard at her, like he is trying to determine if she is being deliberately obtuse. "They know you are for Bane."

"Am I?" says Selina, glancing around the cafeteria where eyes flick in her direction but do not linger. "That's news to me."

Barsad shrugs. "It's known."

They are interrupted by a pair of new guys joining their table. Barsad changes topics immediately.

Selina cleans up after herself and returns to her quarters deep in thought. She is not sure what to make of this conversation.


	10. Chapter 10

_Inspiration image: Selina and a safe. http://imgur.com/cH2BLIQ  
_

VVVVV

Selina notices that some of Bane's men are still discreetly making their way down into the sewers despite having the run of the city. So, of course, she grows curious.

She makes her way down into the sewers in the dead of night when most of the men are asleep. Nothing appears to have changed since she was last down here. She almost gives up on finding anything of interest when her keen ears pick up the sound of a footstep echoing down a forgotten passage. She peers over curiously: Farad is guarding a hallway. Selina wonders if she should pause and speak to him, or sneak past.

She sneaks past. It's more fun that way.

At the end of the passage, a control centre has been set up. Lots of monitors, lots of live feeds of cameras from across the city. Piotr is wandering around here and there, poking at keyboards. There is an armoury of sorts set up at the back with lots of very shiny and very deadly toys. And Bane is seated in the middle of it all, watching the screens.

Does this man ever sleep? Seriously. Selina uses her vantage point to study him. Even here, in the heart of his fortress, surrounded by the men he trusts the most, he is not quite relaxed. Every movement is deliberate, slow, and purposeful. The way he places his arm on the armrest, the way he turns his head from one monitor to the next. The movement of his restless gaze. He doesn't ever casually scratch at an itch, thoughtlessly hum a tune, cough. Everything is so _irritatingly_ on purpose. Programmed. Controlled. Maybe he's actually a robot.

Selina has worked her way into the room in absolute silence, maneuvering her way along the network of pipes that snakes across the ceiling. Humans don't really tend to look up beyond their eye level. It's a trait that she has taken advantage of more times than she can remember.

Selina positions herself above Bane and drops. She lands right beside his chair.

"Evening," she says as her boots hit the floor. (Because, you know, cats always land on their feet.)

Bane, the epitome of control, actually starts from his seat in surprise.

Selina tries not to look too smug. "Thought I'd drop in to say hi."

Having ascertained that she is not a threat, Bane takes a deep breath through the mask, visibly collecting himself. "Ms. Kyle. A pleasure. Will you give me a moment?"

Bane calls to Piotr and Farad in a booming voice. Selina hopes that she never has to hear her name called in that tone. She would hightail it the other way.

But the men in question are obedient puppies and trot over quickly, until they see Selina at Bane's side. Then their faces fall and they slow the hell down.

Bane gestures to Selina. "Gentlemen. Ms. Kyle has been testing your security measures and appears to have found a deficiency."

Selina looks apologetically at the men; she actually didn't mean to get them in trouble.

"Ensure that it does not happen again," says Bane.

Vigorous nods answer this request.

"... as for Ms Kyle," he continues, "since she has found a way in and, no doubt, already taken note of anything worth noting… add her to the whitelist."

The men apologize with dry mouths and promise that there won't be a recurrence of such a breach. Farad is as white as a sheet, Piotr looks like he wants to die.

"Leave us," says Bane, jerking his chin to the door. "I will deal with your ineptitude later."

The two men jog out of the room with their tails tucked between their legs.

"Harsh," says Selina.

Bane looks at her. His breathing, magnified in this concrete chamber, is still a touch more rapid than usual. The fingers of his right hand wiggle rapidly, as though in anticipation of encircling a neck.

"What'll their punishment be?" asks Selina.

Bane is watching a monitor over her shoulder and the distraction seems to be calming him down. When he looks back at her, he is fully in control again.

"I have not decided, Ms. Kyle. Do you have a suggestion?"

Selina smiles an evil smile as a thousand ideas flit in her mind. Bane waits expectantly.

"Nope," she says finally. Because subverting expectations is a game she likes to play.

She turns her back on Bane and begins to wander the room, dragging a finger here and there along some of the machines.

"Nice setup," she says. "This is some serious surveillance you've got going."

"It is adequate," says Bane. He has seated himself back in his chair and is watching her progress through the room. Selina knows that her walk is mildly hypnotic to men and is happy to continue her tour of the place in his sight.

Suddenly, she gasps like a little girl who has found a secret present. Tucked under one of the desks is a black safe.

Bane raises an eyebrow.

"Is this for me?" asks Selina.

"No," says Bane.

Selina scoffs. "All safes are for me."

"Its contents would be of no use to you, I fear."

She looks at him over her shoulder. "It's not _always_ about the contents. Sometimes, it's about the challenge. May I?"

He actually looks a little curious. "By all means. I am informed that it is unbreakable."

Selina rolls her eyes; she has heard that line many times before. "Unbreakable is meaningless to me. I don't break safes. I play with them."

She kneels in front of the safe and examines it carefully. There is no brand, but to her practiced eye it looks Japanese made.

"This is completely custom," she says. "It must have cost you."

"It did," says Bane.

It's a tricky little safe. Its primary lock pad is a very well done fake that would sound an alarm as soon as it is touched, and its secondary one is hidden in a well-camouflaged panel tucked into its right side. Even opening that panel to reveal the pad takes Selina some careful prying to avoid setting off another alarm; there is a combination of pressure points to unlock.

Bane gets up and leans against the desk under which the safe is hidden, watching Selina with interest. She hums to herself as she works, enjoying the puzzle. It's a nice change to not be under a tight timeline to open a safe – she can't get caught because, well, the one who could catch her all but invited her to try to open it.

Selina works patiently on the panel for ten minutes, an ear occasionally pressed against the safe. The room is filled only with the sound of Bane's breathing, and Selina's occasional absent humming. Then there is a soft click, and the secondary lock pad is revealed.

"Ah," says Bane. "Now this gets interesting."

Selina studies the lock pad carefully. "Yes, it does. I assume that I have only one try to get it right, or all hell is rained down on me."

She sees Bane's eyes smiling at her from where he towers above. "Yes."

"Trapped? Explosives?"

"Correct again, Ms. Kyle," says Bane.

Selina looks up at him. "You must trust my skills a little bit – you're standing pretty close yourself."

"Perhaps," says Bane. "Or perhaps a little pain will not bother me."

Selina spends some time observing the lock pad with her flashlight and doesn't even bother to touch it.

She slides herself out from under the desk and regains her feet gracefully. Then, to Bane's (fairly well-hidden) astonishment, she takes his hand.

"You're a lefty," she says, flipping the hand in question over and examining his palm and fingertips. "You weren't before, but you are now. Something happened to your right wrist and now you don't use your right hand as much. You press hard with your left."

She runs her small fingers down his large ones, feeling telltale bumps and unique spots on each, reading the patterns in his prints that will match those she saw on the lock pad.

As she touches him, Bane's breathing slows to the point where she wonders if he has fallen asleep with his eyes open.

She flicks lightly at his index, his middle, and his ring finger, trying to see which has the better reflexes, which would be the dominant ones in putting in the numbers, and in what kind of order of precedence.

"You have a bit of nerve damage," she says as she brushes the top of his palm. "This is normally pretty ticklish."

He says nothing; just that slow breathing, the trance-like stare at her hands touching his.

Selina counts to ten and stops touching him.

"...anybody home?"

Bane snaps out of it, even shakes his head slightly. It is like petting a dozing wolf who just decided to wake up. Selina takes a step back. He crosses his arms – an unconscious, slightly defensive motion. He had a moment of weakness.

"I know the code," says Selina.

Bane narrows his eyes at her. "How?"

They always ask how. There is no how, not really. There is only gut, instinct, and the thousand thousand attempts and failures that inform all of her newest attempts and (now rarer) failures…

"Mindreading," says Selina drily.

"I think you would not stand so near me, if you could read my mind," says Bane.

Well now. That _is_ an interesting comment. Threat? Compliment? Both? Selina sets it aside for further thought later. She looks around. "Can anyone hear us right now?"

Bane's gaze rakes the perimeter of the room and settles back onto Selina. "There are always listeners."

"Come here, then," says Selina, gesturing him to bend towards her. His breathing stops completely when she leans into him on her tiptoes and hooks a hand into his crossed arms to pull herself closer. (Holy shit, he is big.)

She whispers into his ear. "2-3-8-8-7-2-8-5. And you don't hit the green OK button. You hit cancel. Twice."

She pulls away from him. Bane is looking at her with a new look, a mixture of surprise, annoyance, respect. He is impressed. She knows that he likes competence. She just gave him a competence boner.

Admittedly, having him there so she can examine his fingerprints was kind of cheating. If this had been a real thieving scenario, she would have had a lot more trouble with the safe. She would have had to drug or kill the safe's owner to achieve the same result in the same amount of time; neither of those are things that the Cat has the time or inclination to do, unless it's for big, big bucks.

"Are you certain that you are correct?" asks Bane.

"Yes."

"Then try," he says, gesturing to the safe.

"Really?" asks Selina. "You'll let me open it?"

"You have earned the right to have your troublesome curiosity satiated."

"Is it my million dollars?" asks Selina as she crouches back down in front of the safe.

"Why are you so thirsty for money, Ms. Kyle? It cannot buy happiness, or so I am told."

"It can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you options," says Selina.

Bane gives her an inscrutable look. "As I told you before, Ms. Kyle, the contents will not be of use to you."

And indeed they are not. Selina opens the thing with only the slightest moment of hesitation (she is 99.9 percent sure you hit cancel twice; very unorthodox and counterintuitive, very clever) and the door pops smoothly open.

The safe is full of neatly-arranged rows of little cartridges of liquid. Selina tilts her head as she studies them. They don't look like the cartridges for tear gas, or any other chemical warfare component that she is familiar with. They look pharmaceutical, actually.

Bane's slow breathing echoes around her.

Oh my. The anaesthetic.

"Cool," says Selina, holding one of the small ampoules up to the light. Though she is feigning casual interest, she is not sure what to make of Bane's decision to show her this. What is his motive? What does he gain? It feels like he has exposed his weakness to her. It's weird.

"I assume you have more of these stockpiled," says Selina. "In case this place blows up, or whatever…"

"Of course," says Bane. "Everywhere."

The smell that Selina has come to associate with Bane – that fluctuating mix of medicinal camphor, menthol, and wintergreen – lingers on the cartridge. She places it back in the safe slowly, showing Bane that there is no sleight of hand here – she has no intention of stealing any.

"But you don't carry any on you," remarks Selina pensively.

"Don't I?" asks Bane.

Selina gives him a look. "Really. We've been through this. I'm the best pickpocket in this hemisphere. I think I would have found them by now. Unless you've hidden them under your balls."

The unexpected suggestion takes him off guard; he looks amused. There is a beat of silence where he looks at her dead in the eyes and Selina thinks that he is actually going to invite her to find out, but, mercifully, he does not.

"So… do you want to change the passcode?" asks Selina with only the slightest smirk as she closes the safe.

"Is there a point in doing so, with you around?"

"Not really," says Selina, trying not to sound too cocky. "I was just being polite."

She carefully wipes her own prints off of the safe. Force of habit.

"So that formula I found when we first – um – met. That's what makes this stuff?"

"Yes."

Selina perches herself on the desk beside Bane. "So you put those into your mask and what… breathe them in?"

Bane contemplates her a while before speaking. "Yes. A powerful painkiller, vaporized in the mask."

"For chronic pain?"

"Obviously."

"Face?"

"Spine."

Selina winces sympathetically. But this is interesting. She thought the mask was holding together broken pieces of his face; apparently it is a conduit for pain management of his spinal issue. Her eyes travel down the front of Bane's armoured vest to the buckles of the wide back brace lashed tightly around him.

Bane watches her process this new data.

"That is enough information mongering from you," he says. "Thief."

The way he says "thief" makes it sound kind of like a term of endearment.

"It's not stolen if it was willingly given," says Selina with a charming smile. She leans towards him and her face grows serious as she examines the mask critically.

"So… you don't feel pain with that thing on. So basically, your weakness gives you the power to take just about any hit and keep on going. You don't fear pain like everyone else. It doesn't distract you."

"An accurate analysis." Bane looks steadily at her, waiting for her to make her point.

"I wouldn't want to fight you," says Selina.

"That is wise," says Bane.

Yeah, no. Selina's favoured weapon, her whip, is all about pain compliance and fear of pain. It is not that lethal in and of itself; it wounds and distracts but does not kill unless she goes for the throat. Selina gives Bane's muscular bullneck a sidelong glance. Eh. Not so sure about that one. And anyway, how do you fight someone who doesn't even feel your blows, who can keep his mental cool even if his arm was just lopped off, even if he was peppered with gunshots, until he either kills you or bleeds out and dies trying, one of the two…

Selina shudders unconsciously and is exceptionally glad that she was never foolhardy enough to engage Bane in a fight, before she really knew what she was dealing with.

If she has to deal with him now, she knows that the mask must be her target above all else.

Selina gets up and stretches casually. Hopefully that day never comes.

"Your curiosity has been satisfied, however temporarily, and you will now disappear," says Bane as he watches her.

"Yep! Don't want to overstay my welcome," says Selina.

She smiles at him over her shoulder as she sways her way out of the room. "Don't be too hard on the boys. It's not their fault I'm good."


	11. Chapter 11

Winter arrives all of a sudden in Gotham. It is autumn when Selina falls asleep, and the next morning, a blanket of snow has transformed the city. Selina enjoys the sight of it from her quarters on the 53rd floor. The snow camouflages so many of the city's fresh scars, she could almost fool herself into forgetting what it actually looks like now.

But alas, there are too many reminders. The familiar horizon is disfigured by holes where buildings used to be, and there always seems to be something on fire, streaming black smoke into the sky.

Selina notices that there are fewer men around than usual when she picks up her breakfast downstairs. After some prying, she discovers that it is the first day of "judgement" is being held, whatever that means, in the old courthouse. Apparently, when Bane said that new courts would be convened, he was being literal.

Curious, Selina throws on a coat and makes her way to the courthouse on foot. The sidewalks are a slushy mess, as are the streets. In Bane's new order, no-one is taking care of those services everyone takes for granted – snow removal, garbage removal, unblocking clogged storm drains… it makes for a messy walk and Selina disapproves. The partially-decayed body she encounters, half-buried under snow, do not add much gaiety to her walk.

The vast main hall of the Gotham Courthouse has been transformed into a pseudo-courtroom with a single ornate chair facing an enormous judge's bench made literally out of benches and desks. About a hundred of Bane's men are milling around, interspersed with random civilians here and there.

Selina winds her way through the crowd until she has a good view of the chair and judge's bench. The trials – such as they are – appear to be presided over by Dr. Jonathan Crane. He is vaguely familiar to Selina in that she recalls extensive media coverage about him ten years ago. He was a crazy criminal bastard. She doesn't really remember much of him other than that. But his cheekbones are to die for.

Someone gets dragged to the ornate chair, screaming about a mistake. Selina can't make out his face, but Crane identifies him as Phillip Stryver, one of Daggett's executives. Selina remembers him now. He was a bit of a dick. Stryver demands to see Bane and his request is summarily refused. He is given a choice: exile or death.

Selina wonders what she would choose, if she were in that position. However, as it turns out, they are one and the same. Exile involves death by drowning in the partially-frozen East River, and death is death by exile.

Goodbye, Stryver. The world is a better place without you.

Selina watches the rest of the "trials" with mixed feelings. Many of the deaths are more or less warranted, in her view – the corrupt rich who made their fortunes off of the misfortunes and mistakes of others. But some of the deaths, she is not so sure. The rich who made their fortunes through legitimate hard work and wise investments, why should they die?

Selina is glad that her full net worth is known only to her; she is definitely worth more than some of the fat, sweating men forced into the ornate chair. She doesn't fancy a swim in the cold river.

As the series of hearings proceeds, it becomes clear to Selina that Crane is slightly deranged. He is inconsistent in his decisions, sporadic, twitchy… maybe he's high on some kind of upper. Selina does not like this level of unpredictability. She also doesn't understand Bane's decision to put a loose cannon in this kind of position of power. Unless this is just another aspect of his chaos, putting a whack-job in charge…

After three or four hours of this ridiculous kangaroo court, Crane dismisses "the court" (himself) for the day and wanders down a hallway, muttering about cold sweats.

Selina follows. She is not normally murderous, not really, but part of her wants to put him down, excise him from Gotham before he can do more harm. He is a rabid animal, a menace.

His back is open and there is no-one in the deserted corridor. She could do it right now. Force Bane to choose a new judge for his stupid court. She has her little .22 in her back pocket and it is a tempting proposition.

Isn't this what chaos is all about?

She hears Crane begin to speak. Freak. Selina edges closer.

Bane's voice responds, echoing down the marbled corridor from behind a pillar.

Selina all but skids to a silent halt and melts into the shadows. Right. So maybe the gun can wait.

She hears Crane briefly describe his day's work to Bane. Bane asks a few questions. Selina's confusion grows as she listens to Crane's words: he sounds completely sane.

The fuck?

They begin to walk in her direction.

Selina leaves quickly, not feeling up to an encounter with Bane today.

VVVVV

A week later, Selina is on the hunt. It is broad daylight in January, not her usual time for hunting, but then again, her prey is unusual too. It is her hairdresser that she is hunting.

What? It's not because she's living like a hobo in an office building that she has to endure split ends.

Her hairdresser is one of many acquaintances that has disappeared with Bane's new order. The owner of Selina's favourite sushi place has vanished, the owner of her second-favourite is alive but no longer in the restaurant business for obvious reasons. Many of her more vulnerable contacts – prostitutes, homeless men, troubled kids – have disappeared without a trace.

Today she is looking for Michelle, who used to have her salon in the east end. Now that salon is a charred husk amid the other burnt remnants of the strip mall that used to stand here. Selina takes a casual look through the wreckage and is happy to note that there are no bodies. Hopefully Michelle made it out and is somewhere in Gotham, alive. Hopefully. Michelle was a pretty young thing – which, now, in this ass-backwards city, is actually a huge liability. But she was smart, maybe she's out there, surviving...

Selina would like to know what asshole burned this strip mall down; the neighbourhood was already an impoverished one and didn't need to lose this too.

Her hunt unsuccessful, Selina turns to leave. She resigns herself to trimming her own hair like some kind of barbarian.

Why does she hear distant screaming?

Selina scales a nearby decrepit parking structure and jogs across the roof. The screams are coming from the next street over.

There are terrified girls being pulled out of a heavily-damaged school bus and into an old self-storage complex. The girls are little. Like, not even twelve years old. Selina watches them being pushed and pulled, some by the hair, through the rusted gates.

Selina feels rage heat her blood and knows that she must leave. Rage is the worst thing to have in you when you are going to fight. And she does not have much in terms of weapons, and there are at least a dozen men down there, herding the girls through the gates of the storage place. No doubt they are making use of the self-storage units as convenient cells.

Selina observes. She counts. She notices the crude tattoos adorning some of the men's forearms – black spades. She's heard of this gang, one of many that has formed since Bane's new order.

They are as good as dead.

VVVVV

Selina wants guns. She doesn't want the crappy, run of the mill ones available to all at the armoury on the seventh floor, she wants the special ones, the ones that Bane keeps to himself in his control room in the sewers. Because she's going to mess shit up.

So Selina goes to the control room to select her weapons. She is still incensed; her eyes flash at Dal and Gorbachev, who are on guard duty, and they move swiftly out of her way. Her heels echo sharply with each furious footstep as she enters the control room. The screens blink at her, Piotr blinks at her, she sweeps past them in a hot wave of anger.

"I don't think…" says Piotr when Selina reaches the table with the shiny guns.

"Where's Bane?" asks Selina.

"Speak of the devil," says Bane's voice.

Selina clenches her jaw. "I don't have the time or the inclination to deal with your theatrics right now."

Bane advances towards her, hands hooked into his collar. Selina burns him with her eyes.

"You seem... upset, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. A masterful understatement.

"You are _incredibly_ perceptive," says Selina as she runs her fingers along the displayed weapons. "There are little girls being rounded up in the east end. Why?"

There is a pause as Bane considers her question.

"I do not know," he says finally. Selina glances back at him. He appears sincere. This frustrates Selina further.

"Shouldn't you know what's going on in your city?"

"Gotham has been given to the people," says Bane with a large and generous gesture to the city above them. "The people will decide what they wish to do."

"Well, _the people_ are apparently pedophiles and human traffickers, and they're rounding up little girls," says Selina. Anger has made her voice thin, a knife's edge.

Bane infuriates Selina further by giving a casual shrug. Selina turns her back to him, selecting two long-nosed pistols with silencers from the array in front of her.

"May I ask what you are doing?" asks Bane.

"I'm going back there tonight," says Selina. "You just said Gotham's people will decide what they wish to do. I'm one of Gotham's people. And I've decided to go terminate some men with extreme prejudice."

There is not much that Bane can say in response to this, especially given his previous statement. He keeps his mouth shut, which is probably one of his wiser life choices given Selina's mood.

She pockets some ammo. "That's the problem with anarchy. With chaos. It's unpredictable. Uncontrollable. It doesn't always go quite how you think it will."

Selina holsters the guns and sweeps past Bane, her eyes daring him or his men to attempt to stop her.

She is going to be embedding some bullets in skulls and she doesn't care if she starts earlier than planned.

Bane holds up a hand to his men and Selina is allowed to leave unimpeded.

VVVVV

Selina stakes out the self-storage complex, hidden on the roof of the nearby parking structure, waiting until around 3:30 a.m. to make a move. That is when most men are at their weakest, too late to be alert, too early to be awake.

The girls have been locked into individual storage units in pairs or trios by the sounds of it. There are about forty of them all told. Selina can hear quiet crying through the steel sheets that cover the front of the storage units.

It is a cold night; the air smells of snow. Soon it will also smell of blood.

There is a soft sound of movement behind Selina on the roof.

"Don't shoot," whispers a voice. It is Dal, and behind him, Gorbachev is climbing onto the roof.

"If Bane sent you here to stop me, I'm going to kill you where you stand," says Selina, levelling a pistol at them. The truth of her intentions makes her voice hard and brittle, but her aim is steady.

Dal pulls Gorbachev onto the roof. "He didn't send us. And we're not here to stop you. We're here to help."

Selina takes a moment to understand this statement, which is at an incredibly far remove from what she expected Dal to say.

"Why?" she asks, full of suspicion.

Gorbachev speaks up. "We heard what you said to Bane earlier. We came to… enjoy the fun with you. You have some men to kill. We enjoy the sport."

Selina observes Dal and Gorbachev critically in the moonlight. A part of her wants to refuse, because she really works best alone – but both men are seasoned mercs, and, to be honest, she probably could use a hand.

"Fine," she says. "But we're doing this my way."

Dal and Farad look at each other.

"What is your way?" asks Dal.

"Sneaky and dishonourable," says Selina, cocking her gun. "I hope you brought silencers."

VVVVV

Dal and Gorbachev are good and Selina is glad that they decided to tag along. Dal points out a sentry hidden directly below Selina's rooftop perch who must have slipped there while she was prepping and then avoided her scrutiny. Gorbachev turns out to be an excellent sharpshooter with a quick hand and a good eye.

They make fast, if slightly messy, work of the place. Truth be told, it seems the Black Spades were absolutely not expecting an attack; most of the men are asleep with only three nominally on patrol. It seems that gangs have grown fat and lazy in this city, with its easy, undefended pickings of young girls with no-one to protect them.

Selina only has to use her gun twice, on two youngish and clueless sentries; Dal and Gorbachev take care of the rest with cold-blooded efficiency. It is quite obvious that killing does not phase them at all. Selina remembers each and every one of the deaths she has caused. Sometimes they keep her awake at night. The number is 178 as of tonight.

Dal and Gorbachev, on the other hand, are so alarmingly casual about it that she doesn't really want to know how many lives they've taken. Gorbachev in particular is ruthless. He doesn't even bother to look at a guy before killing him in passing on the way to shoot another.

Selina has them stand watch, lest someone had time to call for reinforcements, as she unlocks the storage units. The little girls are understandably terrified, some are in hysterics. Blue lips all around; they are freezing cold on top of everything else.

The girls form a confused line behind Selina as she moves her way down the row of storage units, breaking locks with a blow from her pistol. They cling to each other and some try to cling to her, the mysterious woman in black who has saved them… Selina shakes off the clingers.

Selina releases the last of the girls and turns to face the group that is clustering around her in a shivering flock.

"You were stupid enough to get caught once," she says. "Don't be stupid enough to get caught again. This city is not a nice place for little girls."

Blubbering and crying and calls for mommy are the only answer that Selina receives. She clenches her jaw in impatience and pulls the oldest-looking girl towards her.

"You. Fifty-two and sixth. You know where that is?"

"I-I can find it…" gasps the girl.

"Take them there. All of them. Ask for Judith. Say the Cat sent you. She'll take care of you."

The older girl nods and others begin to cluster around her.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Selina. She pushes the group towards the open gates. "Go. _Run."_

VVVVV

When all of the girls have disappeared and the bodies of the gang members have been stacked up in a neat pyre and set alight, Selina allows herself to relax a touch.

"Where did you send them?" asks Dal.

Selina cracks a smile. "Judith. A crotchety old witch who owes me her life, her house, everything she owns in the world. I always assumed she would just die in my debt. But no. Now she's going to run a goddamn orphanage… it's beautiful."

Selina permits herself a delighted laugh. If only she could see Judith's face...

There is a pile of phones that Dal and Gorbachev pulled from the bodies before they burned them. Selina goes through them all, taking careful note of names, contact information, any locations that are mentioned...

The codename "Ace" comes up often. Piecing together bits of information here and there, Selina is able to deduce that this is what the leader of the Black Spades calls himself. There is no indication that he is among the dead.

Very well. He will die another day.

Her snooping done, Selina tosses the phones into the burning pile of bodies and gestures to Dal and Gorbachev.

"Let's go. I hate when the smell of burning flesh gets into my hair..."

They exit the blood-spattered self-storage complex. Selina lets Dal and Gorbachev lead the way down a side street.

"Aren't we going back to Wayne Tower?" she asks as they turn into a dark alley.

"Of course. But we travel in style," says Dal.

One of the Wayne Enterprises tumblers is crouched in the shadows. Selina claps her hands.

"I always wanted to ride in one of these…"

Selina doesn't mention that she's always wanted to steal one of these. Because that would be telling.

Dal unwittingly gives her an excellent driving demonstration during the drive back to the Wayne building. He discusses the finer points of handling the machine at length, because driving things is his passion. Selina makes a very good listener when she wants to. Thank you, Dal.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been asked why I removed Talia's character. It was for the following scientific reasons:
> 
> Number 1: Her forehead mole annoys me. Get that shit removed. You look like a goddamn unicorn.
> 
> Number 2: See number 1.

Selina runs into Dr. Jonathan Crane in the lobby of the Wayne building one night. Save for the sentries at the door and at the elevator, they are alone in the enormous, marble-tiled space.

She guesses that he has just met with Bane and is leaving. She is curious about this man, about what Bane is using him for.

They cross paths and Crane mutters something to himself, walks a little funny. This probably buys him a wide berth in normal company. But Selina knows.

"You can drop the act," she says, halting. "I know you aren't actually crazy."

He pauses, then looks slowly up at her.

"You should drop yours too, then," he says.

Selina raises an eyebrow. "Mine?... And which act would that be?"

Crane studies her hard, and Selina vaguely recalls that he was some kind of psychologist in a former life.

"Your insouciance," he says. "No-one goes through life caring as little as you do."

Selina smiles at him, because he's partially right. "Fair."

"I'm not mistaken in understanding that you are the famous Selina Kyle?"

"I think infamous would be more accurate," says Selina. "I've done some bad things."

Crane's lips quirk upwards. "So I've heard."

"Come and tell me what else you've heard," says Selina, linking her arm into his elegantly and walking towards some scattered chairs in the reception area.

Selina does not miss the quick look he gives the sentries, checking out who is witnessing this – honestly rather innocent – interaction.

They sit. Selina arranges her dress; he mocks her by arranging his threadbare, tattered suit.

"I've heard that you've stolen things that should have been impossible to steal, broken into safes that were supposed to be unbreakable," says Crane.

"Heroic deeds," says Selina drily.

"I've heard that you are an uncommonly beautiful woman."

Selina laughs her most charming surprised laugh. "And who told you that?"

"I don't think he would appreciate being named," says Crane.

"I see. So are you working for him now?"

Crane nods. "He released me from Arkham. I can do him a favour. And you too, I take it?"

Selina examines her nail polish. "In a manner of speaking."

Nope, she really doesn't. She stays in his headquarters and eats his food and uses his protection – and gives him absolutely nothing in return. Her time is spent managing her own affairs. It's kind of an unusual arrangement when you distill it that way… people must wonder why. She also wonders why.

"So how are you enjoying being the one dispensing Bane's judgement?" asks Selina, changing the topic quite obviously.

Crane holds up his index finger. "Ah. Allow me to correct you there. It is Gotham's judgement. I am a neutral third party."

"... who works for Bane," says Selina.

"Funny how that works," says Crane.

He is twitchy again, and this time it seems real. He eyes the sentries.

"I should be on my way," he says, getting up carefully, so as not to tear his suit further.

"Do you need me to steal you some real clothes?" asks Selina, also rising.

"Thank you, but no," he says. "I am one of the people. I am the people's judge. I need to look the part."

"The people are largely hobos?" says Selina with a critical look at his attire.

"Excuse me. This was an Armani suit," he says. His lips twitch into a smile again.

"If you say so," says Selina. She holds out her hand. "It was pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure was all mine," says Crane. He looks as though he thinks of gallantly kissing Selina's hand, but the sentries' eyes are on them. He squeezes it instead, and strides off towards the front door.

Selina takes the elevator to her floor.

_Uncommonly beautiful._

What a lovely phrase.

VVVVV

News of the attack on the Black Spades makes its way through Gotham. Selina hears echoes of it through her contacts, that it was by all appearances an unprovoked attack by another gang. No one has claimed responsibility, but the remaining members of the Black Spades have vowed revenge.

Naturally, Selina has determined to finish them off.

So Selina hunts.

She is patient, because she has nothing else to do in this shithole of a city.

She is relentless, because exterminating the Black Spades will send a message to other gangs who might think of moving in on the recently-vacated underaged girls market.

And she is ruthless, because she herself was a little girl long ago, and she would spare others the things that she went through.

First there were twenty-odd Black Spades members left.

Then there were fifteen.

Then there were eight, and they began to worry.

Then there was one.

"Ace" is an incredibly corny name and Selina can't wait to punish the guy for choosing it. If she could just find him.

Selina hears through the grapevine that a wild New Year's party is being planned in Centretown. Some millionaire's house is going to be turned into an orgy of music, drink, and debauchery. Apparently it is going to be frequented by all of the city's current high-rollers, the mob bosses, the gang leaders, the Families…

For a gang leader who has lost his gang, it would be an excellent networking opportunity.

For someone plotting to kill said gang leader, it would be an even more excellent opportunity.

VVVVV

Selina hums "Baby, It's Cold Outside" to herself as she sips on her glass of red and looks out onto the snowy garden.

The party has been going on for maybe six hours now and the house is already pretty trashed. Not that its owner can complain; he died in one of Crane's show trials many weeks ago.

Selina has wandered around for hours but seen no sign of Ace. She has only a verbal description of him to go by, but it seems he would be difficult to miss. Apparently he is short but well-built and has an incredibly abrasive personality. He also happens to have a distinctive black spade tattooed on his left shoulder.

Selina almost gets vomited by a drunk girl while crossing the dance floor, so she decides to retreat to a slightly quieter side room for a few minutes before returning to the party.

She misses the sophisticated parties of the old Gotham, when everyone wasn't tripping balls and over-drinking and partaking in all of these excesses. When gentlemen courted her and asked her to dance, rather than grope at her like drunken apes. When actual chefs were employed who made actual hors-d'oeuvres, rather than MREs being passed around like gourmet food. When there was actually stuff for her to steal.

Selina misses the good old days.

Night has fallen and Selina's reflection in the dark window looks sombrely back at her. Her grave expression doesn't fit the rest of her festive New Year's ensemble – the deep-red dress, the rubies glittering at her neck. She has her hair down tonight, parted at the side, and is surprised by how far below her shoulders it tumbles now.

The lights are dimmed and the DJ begins to play a slow song. Selina sips on her wine and watches the dancers through partially-open french doors, keeping an eye out for any new faces.

Her sensitive ears pick up heavy footsteps in an adjoining room. A door opens and closes softly behind her. And then, the breathing.

Either Bane is keeping tabs on her, or he's just really good at sniffing her out.

"Don't interrupt me," says Selina, holding up a hand and not even turning around to look at him. "I'm watching to see if someone's going to slip in a puddle of puke."

She hears the longer exhale of breath that she has learned to interpret as an expression of amusement.

Bane comes to stand beside her but does not interrupt her observation. Out of her peripheral vision, Selina can see that the cold weather has caused him to put a long-sleeved black shirt on under his perennial vest. It makes him look a little more approachable, camouflaging his bulging muscles under soft material.

On the dance floor, someone sober enough has found a mop and slopped the puke away. Selina feigns disappointment and finally allows her attention to rest fully on Bane.

"Fancy seeing you here," she says, placing her glass of wine on a nearby table. She prefers to have both hands free around this one.

"An interesting coincidence, indeed," says Bane. His eyes linger ever so briefly on her bare shoulders and on the obviously stolen necklace shimmering on her collarbone. "Why are you here tonight, Ms. Kyle?"

Selina is not sure where Bane stands on her recent (and ongoing) purge of the Black Spades. She therefore gestures vaguely to the room at large. "Oh, you know… party things. Dancing."

"Is that so?" asks Bane. "I do not see you dancing."

"Don't you?" asks Selina. She twirls herself into place in front of him and places her hands on his shoulders with a kittenish smile. "I'm doing it right now."

She has taken him off-guard and he doesn't like that. But Selina has a pretty good idea that he does like being close to her, since under the mask, he is only a man and she is a beautiful woman. An uncommonly beautiful one. She watches the two impulses war briefly in Bane's eyes, and decides to help him along.

"Here's a hint… you're supposed to put your hands on my waist," whispers Selina in Bane's ear.

Selina sees him scan the empty room, the people dancing on the other side of the french doors, the window.

"What, you think someone's going to see?" asks Selina. She pulls her hands more closely together and allows her fingertips to brush the back of Bane's neck, just below where his mask cradles the base of his skull. "Should we care?"

She knows she has the whole cat thing going on, but sometimes, she is really a fox.

Her touch brings Bane's attention back to her and then she feels the weight of his hands on her waist. He does not have a light touch. It reminds her of how large he is, and how he could break her like kindling.

He must therefore be reminded of how petite she is, and how he could break her like kindling. Her weakness relative to him isn't exactly where she had hoped to lead his thoughts, and Selina begins to wonder if she has just made a mistake.

They are close together now; Selina actually feels his breath expelling softly from the mask as he breathes. The smell of his analgesic drifts around her.

They aren't actually moving, or dancing at all. Selina tries, but Bane's hands on her hips deny her permission to move. A cheesy love song plays in the background and Selina very much wants to laugh, because rather than slow dancing like everyone out there, she is fixed in an embrace that might as well be a headlock.

"You are looking for the leader of the Black Spades tonight," says Bane, apparently tiring of Selina's charade and cutting to the point.

"Am I?" asks Selina with practiced innocence. "Why would I care about him?"

Bane looks down at her. "Ms. Kyle. I have found that the more innocent you look, the more guilty you are. Now you are as wide-eyed as a doe. You are most definitely lying."

Well, damn. Selina sighs a long sigh and looks at Bane frankly. No more doe eyes. "So maybe I am looking for him. What of it?"

"You will not find him here tonight, I fear."

Selina tilts her head at Bane and smiles. Her nails brush the back of his neck. "Interesting. I have it on very good authority that he _is_ going to be here tonight…"

She looks at the crowd of people in the other room. "He has to catch up on some schmoozing, find himself a new place… apparently his own gang has been decimated, and no-one knows why."

"Ah. But we know why, do we not, Ms. Kyle?"

Selina smiles a slow smile and looks up at Bane. "Maybe we do."

They are intimately close now. Bane lowers his head to Selina's ear and speaks in a low tone, as though he does not want to be overheard. "Your sources were not… aware of the very latest developments."

The metal of his mask brushes Selina's bare shoulder and she shivers as his breath feathers its way across her skin. His breath is warm, even pushed through his breathing apparatus. He _is_ human after all.

"Meaning?" asks Selina, willing away her goosebumps before he sees them.

Bane's eyes smile at her, mocking her. " _I_ have it on very good authority that his body lies in his car, a few streets from here."

Selina stills and loses her playful ease. "Whose authority?"

"Mine."

Selina bristles as she understands the significance of this word. He took her kill. She had been looking forward to her kill, and he took it. Her fingertips dig slightly into the side of Bane's neck.

"I don't like others stealing my kills... I intended to make his passing quite... _unpleasant_."

Bane does not react to her digging fingers and Selina reminds herself that he can't actually feel pain. Right. That's going to take some adjusting to. She takes a breath, willing the flare of irritation away. Because it seems that Bane thought that he was doing her a favour, or giving her a gift.

"I hope that it was a painful death," she says, calming herself.

Bane looks at the ceiling, as though reminiscing about some pleasant memory. "Do you know… judging by the screams, I believe it was."

"I should thank you," says Selina. "I don't need to get my dress bloody tonight."

"It would be a shame," says Bane. His hands travel up her sides and he looks down at her intently. "It _is_ a lovely dress."

Selina feels her heart rate speed up as his hands move and his eyes scan her shoulders, her cleavage, the curve of her hips. She tells herself that it is fear, the adrenaline that is a constant when in his presence.

"Isn't it?" she says, a seductive smile ghosting on her lips. "I wore red on purpose. So the stains wouldn't be so obvious."

Bane nods, calm, casual. Selina is annoyed at herself for not being equally calm and casual, at least internally. Externally, she is the picture of composure, except perhaps for the slight flush on her cheeks, which she will blame on the wine.

How is he always in control? Does he ever lose it? Even right now, when there is a definite tension between them, when any other man would be pulling her in tighter, running a hand down her butt, or at least getting sweaty palms – he is just standing there. Holding her because she told him to. Otherwise unperturbed.

Selina looks up at Bane, with his mask that locks away his emotions and his face and his carefully controlled words and his domineering presence, and something falls into place in the way she understands him. He has built walls around himself with his charisma, his authority, his physical brutality. He is just another safe. But one that Selina is not sure that she wants to open, if she's honest with herself.

Still. Maybe just a little crack.

"Why did you kill Ace for me?" asks Selina.

He did not anticipate this question. He stares into the distance. Breathes some slow breaths.

"You were a good enough reason," he says when the silence has grown long.

Selina barely has time to ponder the meaning of this when cheering erupts from the dance floor and a loud countdown to zero commences. Selina has completely lost track of time; how is it midnight already?

Almost every New Year's Eve, Selina attends some kind of party with whichever man she is seeing at the time is a) richest and b) smitten with her the most. This year was going to be a different year, this year she intended to celebrate by killing a guy. But the guy is already dead, and somehow, she is partially wrapped around Bane instead.

"Four!" says the drunk man with the mic in the next room.

"Three!" shouts the crowd.

"Two!"

"One!"

Cheers erupt, champagne bottles pop and spray expensive froth, hands applaud, feet stomp on the floor, girls kiss boys and boys kiss girls.

And Selina Kyle gets up on the tip of her toes and plants a small kiss on the front of Bane's mask before whipping out of his grip and disappearing into the crowd.

Perhaps she will be the uncontrollable element in his heavily regimented life.


	13. Chapter 13

_Inspiration image: Bane's rooftop swagger. http://imgur.com/X8xUAfx  
_

VVVVV

It is mid-January and cold outside. Selina does not like the cold very much, she is more of a lounge-by-the-pool-weather kind of girl.

To alleviate some of her cabin fever, she hits the Wayne Tower gym often. She has found that four in the morning is a good time to go; Bane's men tend to visit it late at night or after breakfast, so it is almost always exclusively hers.

On this particular morning, she is by herself except for Gorbachev, who is minding his own business squatting three times Selina's body weight in the corner. Selina is on the treadmill, running being a useful skill to keep sharp when a large part of your day job involves running away. Well, maybe it's more a night job than a day job, and maybe she hasn't actually done a job in months because there's not much left to steal in this city, but… it's no reason to get fat and out of practice.

They sweat it out in companionable silence broken by their heavy breathing and Gorbachev's manly grunts and finish their workouts at approximately the same time. Selina is towelling off when Gorbachev breaks for a long drink.

Between them is a huge mat-covered area designated for stretches and they make eye contact across it.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asks Selina.

Gorbachev barks out a laugh. "Most probably not. You are a lady, after all."

Selina steps onto the mats. Beams him an enticing smile. "Come on. Fight me."

"I already fought you and won. Or don't you remember?"

Oh, Selina remembers. Gorbachev was one of the original group who captured her and brought her to Bane, almost a year ago now.

"That was six against one," says Selina. "Doesn't count. But I remember. I know you remember too. I think you're remembering the kick in the balls I nailed you with. That's why you're too scared to spar with me now."

Gorbachev laughs again. Such a good natured killer. "You may be right."

He stands at the edge of the mats. Selina walks over and pulls him onto them by the wrist. "C'mon. No kicks in the balls this time. Promise. We'll keep it friendly."

Selina extricates a promise from him that he will not bruise her (or she _will_ bruise back). They size each other up and lunge at the same time.

Gorbachev is a big guy, strong, but kind of slow. Selina is small and fast. They both readjust their fighting styles to compensate and Selina can honestly say she enjoys the ten-minute sparring session that results. It's actually fun to be fighting someone without it being a life or death thing…

She kicks, he blocks it, he knocks her down. They wrestle, and Selina is at a huge disadvantage because on the floor her speed is reduced to nil. But it is all in good fun and she yields when he gets her in an armlock a few seconds afterwards.

"No more wrestling," says Selina with a breathless laugh as she fixes her hair. "It's not a fair fight."

She sees the way Gorbachev looks at her when she laughs, the way his eyes stray to her breasts when she does her ponytail back up. Yeah, he's into her. Big time.

Selina looks back at him, and a corner of her mouth lifts in a knowing smile. Why not? She's had a bit of a dry streak anyway, her last lay was William Baker, which was eons ago as far as Selina is concerned… and this guy has a great body, and is slightly sweaty, and is totally doable right now.

She scoots over to where Gorbachev is sitting on the mat and presses her mouth to his with no further preliminaries. It appears he was thinking along the same lines; he grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her on top of him. They kiss aggressively, the sparring session still alive in their blood and making them fierce. He is not gentle with her, which suits her just fine at the moment.

When they break for a breather, Selina inclines her head towards the door. "Upstairs?"

Gorbachev's eyes, which were full of desire up until that moment, suddenly grow huge. He swears in that language that Selina doesn't understand and stands up.

"What–?"

More cursing. Gorbachev holds his head in horror as though Selina has just shown him pictures of dead babies. Actually, maybe the babies would phase him less than whatever is causing his current hysteria.

" _What am I doing?!_ Am I crazy? I can't…" Gorbachev backs away from Selina like she suddenly became Medusa. As for Selina, she is utterly confused and quite ready to be extremely insulted unless he explains himself immediately.

Gorbachev breathes heavily. "I would like to – more than – more than you know. But it isn't worth my life. What was I thinking..."

Selina gets up and stands in his path as he makes for the exit. "For god's sake, Gorbachev. We don't have to. But what the hell are you talking about?"

Gorbachev makes a wide detour around her like she has the plague.

"Bane," he says, terror in his eyes.

Selina has never seen anyone walk away from her so fast. Erection and all.

VVVVV

Well, that was fun. Things promise to be awkward between her and Gorbachev next time they meet up. Selina showers and then makes for the rooftop of Wayne Tower, her favoured spot for meditating and nefarious plotting.

She perches herself on the highest point of the utility room on the roof and watches the sun rise over blackened, beaten Gotham City.

So Selina has received hints from several quarters at this point that, somehow, Bane has staked a claim on her. The terms of the claim are unclear, but Selina feels that she can make a pretty damn accurate guess as to its general import. His men have been barred from sleeping with her. This could indicate that he simply doesn't want them fraternizing with a potential enemy. That would be fine, and quite understandable coming from a controlling bastard like Bane.

Except that in all of the hints she has received, it has been specified that Selina is Bane's. _For_ Bane. Reserved. Like a seat at a symphony, a bed at a hotel. Selina wonders if he declared this explicitly to his men, or if it is something that they have observed and decided for themselves.

Also, can she just say, what the hell makes him think he has any right to decide who Selina sleeps with? And if he is so interested himself, why has he never actually made a move on her? Never shown any interest in her other than in her abilities?

Or has he?

Selina remembers moments, touches, looks. Conversations. She has an excellent memory for these things, because they are important tools in the business of seduction. Not that it ever crossed her mind to try to seduce Bane – not _really_ try. She isn't suicidal. She has teased him, but only a very little, only small touches, the dancing thing… such minor things to her that, for the most part, they don't even register on her radar.

There have certainly been moments when she has known that he was attracted to her – because, let's be honest, what straight male wouldn't be – but why has he not gone beyond? God knows he could have, he's had more than enough chances. They shared a room in the Blank-istan country of the Pit, and she now lodges in the same building he does, and she knows that he knows exactly which floor and which office, because he's a controlling creep like that. He probably knows that she hangs out on the roof in her spare time, what she eats, where she goes during the day...

Why hasn't he made a move? Fear of rejection? That's stupid. He doesn't fear anything, and even if she did reject him… he is more than capable of taking what he wants. Selina is acutely aware of this; it is one of the reasons why she fears Bane – because he is one of very few men who could.

Selina has a sneaking suspicion that Bane's reserve relates to his obsession with control. That somehow he sees her as a danger, a chink in his armour, a bogey in his sky. And that giving in to his – attraction, or whatever it is – would be tantamount to a failure in control.

Maybe.

Who knows what he's hiding behind his smiling eyes.

The dawn light warms Selina as the sun finally detaches itself from the horizon's jagged line and rises in earnest.

She takes a last, pensive look at her broken city and goes back inside to mull things over at the breakfast table.

VVVVV

As he occasionally does, Barsad joins Selina for breakfast. She decides to pick his brain about this. Carefully.

She doesn't name names, but gives Barsad the broad strokes of her encounter with Gorbachev, his terror at almost making an apparently huge mistake, the way he fled from her like she had rabies.

Barsad does not look surprised as she tells her tale. "Something of the sort was bound to happen at some point. But I am glad it ended where it did."

"But why the hell can't people have sex with who they want around here?"

"People can," says Barsad. "Except if you are in the equation. Then, it is a different story."

"But _why_?" asks Selina.

"I have told you, and this poor man, whoever he is, told you – you are for Bane."

Selina stabs her plastic fork into her food with impatience. "You want to elaborate on that? Did he make some kind of grand declaration about this? I didn't get the memo."

Barsad shakes his head. "Nothing of the sort. But those of us who have been with Bane for long enough know how he is with women."

He points at a crumpled napkin beside Selina's plate. "He uses them with as much thought as you put into using that. And just as carelessly."

"I'm so glad I'm worth more to him than a napkin," says Selina acerbically.

"I'm telling you that you are different. You don't believe me," says Barsad. "But you should."

Selina is unconvinced. "I'm exceptionally good at what I do. He values skill, doesn't he?"

"He does," says Barsad gravely. "Among other things."

"Such as?"

"I do not wish to advance myself," Barsad says slowly. "I believe he might find your audacity, your fearlessness... unusual. Intriguing. Refreshing, perhaps."

"I'm scared shitless of him just like everybody else," says Selina.

Barsad laughs his quiet little laugh. "You hide it extraordinarily well, Ms. Kyle."

His face grows serious. "I will not say more on this matter but this: you are in a strange and dangerous position. You must be careful. He knows what he wants, and when he decides that he wants it… he will take it. It is part of why he makes such an excellent leader."

"Terrorist, you mean," says Selina, unwilling to let that one pass.

"To you, perhaps. A liberator to others. I thought you were in the latter camp for a long time, actually."

Selina shrugs. "Let's just say… this free-for-all isn't quite what I hoped it would be."

"I see," says Barsad. He chews thoughtfully for a moment. "May I suggest that, to spare the unfortunate man from this morning a… considerable punishment, you not mention this incident to Bane?"

"Obviously," says Selina. "It's not his fault."

"Thank you. Better for him, better for you."

Others join the table and engage Barsad in a discussion about rumours that a CIA special ops team has infiltrated Gotham. Selina listens with only one ear – her mind is otherwise occupied.

VVVVV

A fresh layer of snow has coated Gotham in a veneer of white, temporarily masking its derelict state. Selina is perched on the roof of the Wayne building, her winter boots dangling fifty-five stories above the ground.

It is a quiet night. Selina is reminded of a different place where she sat likewise on the edge of a building, of a desert half a world away, of the silence that she found there. The snow has muted Gotham's constant murmur; it is quiet, but not silent. She doubts that she will ever find that silence again.

But as she sits and listens, Selina realizes that Gotham's music has changed. There are no more intermittent distant sirens clamouring their rescue efforts to the night – the police force is trapped in the sewers, barely kept alive by occasional ration drops. There are no more TVs blaring, because cable service has been cut, and many places no longer have electricity. There are very few motor vehicles with engines roaring into the night, because gasoline has become a scarce commodity.

Gotham's song used to be the bustle of human life in all of its various pleasant and unpleasant forms. Now it is the sad, slow melody of a dying city.

The sound of a door closing and heavy footsteps interrupt her musings.

"I thought I might find you here," says that filtered voice, the one that instantly sets Selina on high alert.

"I come here to think," says Selina. She doesn't turn around to look at him. "And for some solitude."

Bane ignores her rather pointed hint. "Something has come to my attention. I wish to speak to you about it."

Selina bites her lip. Did he find out about Gorbachev, somehow? Is the poor man dead already?

"I'm listening," says Selina.

Bane is standing beside her, a little ways back from the ledge. She sees his combat boots move to assume his typical alpha male stance, legs slightly apart. Selina smirks to herself: he is standing about two feet from the edge. She is utterly fearless when it comes to heights in a way that very few people are, Bane included.

"I have heard that some of my men went with you, the night that you first attacked the Black Spades."

Selina is a touch relieved. She was worried that this conversation would be about something else entirely.

"Yes," says Selina.

"Who was it?"

Selina looks up at Bane. Selina is many things, but she sure isn't a rat. "Why does it matter?"

Bane is studying the cityscape, but his eyes are hard. "It matters because they are my men. We have spoken of this before."

"I remember. You gave me a lecture when I wanted to make Piotr my lovesick puppy," says Selina. Her brief laugh echoes sharply in the night. "You can keep him. He's not as cute as I thought he was."

"I will keep them all," says Bane. One of his boots moves closer to her and Selina decides that she no longer likes her position on the edge of oblivion. Not when he could kick her right off in a split second.

She stands nonchalantly, stretches, and vaults onto a large crate. When she sits back down to face Bane, she is at eye level with him. Much better than at his feet. "I don't see what the big deal is. They just helped me out. It didn't even take an hour."

Bane approaches her again and Selina tenses. He's doing that swaggery walk, the one he uses when he wants to appear even more intimidating than usual.

"No-one saw us, if that's what you're worried about. If this is a political thing."

Bane's slow breathing fills the silence that follows. "That is not what worries me."

"Then what?" asks Selina. She tilts her head at him, genuinely puzzled, waiting.

"That they offered to help you in the first place. Without my knowledge or consent."

"What does it matter?"

"Loyalty."

Selina shrugs. "You're reading too much into it. They were just bored and out for some fun."

"Perhaps," says Bane. The word hisses through his mask. He is unconvinced.

He breaks eye contact to glare at the horizon.

Selina follows his sightline.

"There are sixteen buildings missing from that view," she says. "If you turn this way, twelve more."

Bane seems willing to change the subject, thank god. "You sound displeased, Ms. Kyle."

"I am."

Bane turns to her and she can see that whatever had him all fired up has once again been quashed. He has regained his self-command.

He pulls out a piece of paracord and knots it absentmindedly. It is a past-time Selina has seen among soldiers, but would not have associated with Bane. Perhaps he uses it to occupy his twitchy fingers…

"I would have thought a thief would enjoy a chaos so great that it can change the cityscape," says Bane.

Selina smiles, but it is a bitter smile. "So did I. I was wrong."

Bane seems intrigued by this confession. He has advanced so that he is immediately in front of Selina, inches from her knees. His eyes bore into hers with uncomfortable intensity, framed by the darkness of his mask.

"Explain."

Selina hesitates. How to put it into words the sick feeling that has plagued her since Bane's new order has risen?

"Can I speak honestly?"

Bane gives her a slow blink of assent. "Your frankness is one of your many… charming characteristics."

"What a compliment," says Selina with a dry smile. "I'll be frank, then. I thought that chaos would be freedom. I thought it would obliterate all those artificial rules and laws and restraints that I've been butting up against for as long as I can remember. But now that you've done your work in Gotham – now that I have chaos, or anarchy, or whatever you call this… I've discovered that what I thrive on is being the rogue element in an ordered structure. When there is no structure left, it doesn't work. For me – or for anyone. Humans become savage, they rape, murder, think only of today and not of tomorrow… this city is killing itself."

"Gotham was my garden," says Selina, looking onto its ruin. "I tended to it and harvested from it. Taking valuables here and there, but never too much. Always leaving enough to grow back. And I planted the fruit elsewhere, where they would have a chance to grow into something more. A couple grand here, a diamond ring there, enough for people to get out of their ruts and become productive themselves. It was a good system. Symbiotic. Now there are too many people taking too many things. They're careless, they're not thinking it through. They've destroyed it."

Bane is looking at Selina intently. Selina looks away, feeling almost shy. Perhaps it is because she so rarely speaks the truth of what she is feeling, and she just has. To Bane of all people.

He seems… pleased, somehow, about her revelation. He is giving her the same look he gave her when she pickpocketed him blind in her apartment almost a year ago. That thoughtful reevaluation. That appreciation.

But enough about Selina. She isn't used to indulging in self-pitying prattle. She cocks her head at Bane. "There's something I don't understand in all this. You're a control freak. You're obsessed with it. It's in the way you plan, the way you act, the way you think, the way you carry yourself – the way you breathe, even. You hate chaos."

Silence greets this statement.

"Am I wrong?" asks Selina quietly.

Bane lets out a long breath through the mask. "Astute observations. You are not entirely wrong."

"So why do this?"

"This chaos is… a temporary inconvenience."

Selina raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to restore order?"

"In a manner of speaking," says Bane.

"Elaborate."

He looks at her. "Perhaps later."

Selina is quiet for a moment, dissatisfied with this answer but unwilling to pursue it further given his tone.

They sit in silence, save for the regular in-out of Bane's breath, the zip of his paracord being pulled into tight knots.

"So…" says Selina when the quiet draws long. "I'm curious. What's the deal with Crane?"

"What of him?" asks Bane. His eyes immediately seek hers and his gaze is hard.

In light of this reaction, Selina decides to downplay her curiosity. Bane is in a strange mood. A jealous mood.

Selina shrugs carelessly. "He just seems like a weirdo. Unpredictable. Not really your type."

"The League has... need of Dr. Crane," says Bane.

"Is it to do with his fear toxin?" asks Selina. She has been reading up on Crane's past. Very interesting stuff.

"Perhaps," says Bane. He has put away the paracord and resumed his favourite position, hands holding his collar.

Selina leans forward and fixes one side of his collar where it is ever-so-slightly lower than the other. Her hand brushes his, accidentally-on-purpose. "I don't like the word perhaps. It's a meaningless word, and one that you use too much."

His eyes smile at her, acknowledging this fact quite cheerfully.

Selina leans back and knocks the heels of her boots on the crate. She is dissatisfied. If she had a tail, it would be twitching.

"I'm going to go out for a drive," she says. "I'm restless."

"Certainly."

Selina hops off the crate and strides away, the heels of her boots echoing on the concrete roof as she walks.

"Ms. Kyle."

He doesn't even need to raise his voice, it just carries.

Selina stops, looks at him over her shoulder.

Bane is giving her a very deadpan look. His hand is extended to her, his fingers twitch in a beckoning motion.

She can't help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her. She thought she had him…

She twirls the paracord between her fingers as she walks back towards Bane.

"You're no fun," she says, dropping it into his waiting hand. She presses his fingers closed on top of it and walks away.

"You inform me of this quite frequently," says Bane to Selina's retreating back. "As for the other thing you've taken from me… see that you return it within three hours. Or I will come retrieve it _personally_."

Selina bites her lip to stop her grin from spreading too widely. Oh, so he noticed that, too.

"Fair," she says nonchalantly as she drops over the edge of the building to make her way back to her window.

Because secreted in Selina's coat pocket is the starter for one of the tumblers, which was acquired from Bane when he stood beside her earlier.

She practically skips to the subterranean parking lot, eager to take the machine for a joyride.


	14. Chapter 14

_Inspiration images:_

_Selina on a joyride. http://imgur.com/q6XWW71  
_

_Bane chillin'. http://imgur.com/5AUZznO and http://imgur.com/cHe0b6r  
_

VVVVV

Driving the tumbler was as ridiculously fun as it looked. It might have a few new dents from some turns taken a touch too quickly, but since its exterior is already riddled with bullet holes and other damage, Selina is certain that no one will care.

Even if they do, it was worth the exhilaration. Selina enjoys the feeling of controlling beasts far more powerful than herself.

True to her word, she shows up at Bane's control room to return the tumbler's starter, two hours and fifty seven minutes later. Because she really doesn't need him to retrieve it from her _personally_ , with all the ominous meaning that accompanies the word.

Farad is on guard duty in the control room and waves her in after she tells him that Bane is expecting her. Bane is basically a password for everything around here. As long as Selina doesn't exaggerate too much, she is certain that she could put his name to good use. Maybe she can use it to get herself some actual sushi in this MRE-infested hole…

Selina pokes around the control centre, looking for Bane. In a nook near the servers, she finds Piotr sound asleep on an old mattress. She considers kicking him awake and blasting him for destroying her condo, but thinks better of it when she sees him frown and twitch like he's having a nightmare. She'll let him stew in that instead.

There is a small offshoot passage at the very back of the control room that Selina had noted in passing before. She glances at Farad, who is leaning tiredly against the wall and not paying attention to her, and at the sleeping Piotr.

Is this the lair of the beast?

Selina advances cautiously and is rather disappointed by the pedestrian nature of the small room that lies at the end of the passage. It is lit by a battery-operated camp light valiantly pushing its weak glow into the shadows. A single bed, a camp table, a crappy foldy chair. A computer. A red motorcycle helmet. A pile of clothes overflowing from a duffle bag.

Compared to the relatively sumptuous office suite that Selina found for herself upstairs, this looks like a hovel. It surprises her, really, that Bane – the great orator, dictator, and criminal boss – makes his home down here. Why didn't he commandeer the CEO's office? Why let his men have all the best rooms with the best views and facilities? Is this kind of thing why they think he's a great leader?

It's weird. Selina drops the tumbler's starter onto the small table with a dull _thunk_. And there's another odd thing. There are packets of field rations stacked up beside the computer… and syringes.

Selina hears Bane's breathing behind her and just barely stops herself from jumping guiltily. She's allowed to be here, she's returning his starter. For god's sake, Selina, get a grip.

"I put it back there," says Selina, pointing to the starter without turning around. "Had a great ride."

Her ears catch the sound of water droplets hitting the floor. She turns. Bane is apparently very freshly out of the shower. A scrappy towel is wrapped around his waist.

"Oh _my_ ," says Selina with a smirk. She can't help it, it's just who she is – and besides, she really likes what she sees.

She leans against the table and crosses her arms as though waiting for a show. Hey, he hasn't asked her to leave. She's not leaving.

Bane is unfazed by her presence. His eyes move from the duly-returned starter to Selina's cat smile, then to the dufflebag of clothing on the floor. He makes his way towards the latter.

It is so strange to see him like this – more vulnerable than usual without his armour, and yet even more impressive than usual when you can see his bulk unshrouded by any clothing. He is not cut like a bodybuilder; he is solid and thick like a strongman.

Powerful.

Yummy.

"You should show this off more often," says Selina, gesturing to him. "You can be Gotham's liberator and its resident beefcake."

Bane gives her an inscrutable look and she actually giggles.

"Alright, I'll stop," says Selina. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Bane rifles through the clothes. "I am not uncomfortable, Ms. Kyle."

And there goes the towel. On the floor. And Selina stares at the ceiling, because she didn't expect that at all.

"Are you certain that you are not the one who is uncomfortable?" asks Bane, obviously noticing her sudden silence. There is mockery in his tone.

Oh, that smug asshole. Selina was willing to give him privacy, but now… she gives him a frank, appraising look. She does like what she sees. He is very… proportionate.

"Perfectly certain," says Selina.

Bane turns to his clothing, apparently satisfied that he has made his point.

When he turns away from her, Selina cannot hold back the tiny gasp that escapes her: his broad back is bisected by a hideous raised scar that twists and splays its way down from his nape to his tailbone.

Selina bites her lip and turns away. No wonder Bane needs the mask. That looks like a bush-level surgical attempt and make no mistake. Selina feels a brief tingle of pity for the child born in darkness that had to endure that horrific injury...

"You have questions; I can hear them taking shape before they have even been formed by your lips," says Bane as he pulls on his customary cargo pants. "But I will entertain none on the subject of the scar."

Selina lets out a small disappointed sigh. "Fine. But can I ask about those field rations you have piled up there?"

Bane glances to where she is pointing. "...What of them?"

"Do you actually eat them?"

"No. They are merely decorative." Bane's sarcasm is thick and it verges ever so slightly on anger. Selina doesn't quite dare ask about the syringes.

Bane wraps his wide back brace around his waist and tightens it with a sharp tug and a grunt. Because of the mask, Selina cannot see the grimace that makes his eyes squint, but she can imagine it.

Selina runs a finger thoughtfully over her lower lip. "You have to wear that pretty much all the time. Like your mask. Like your wrist brace. It's like you're being held together by straps, leather, and willpower..."

"I believe I said no questions on that front," says Bane.

"It wasn't a question," says Selina cooly. "It was an observation."

Bane pauses when she responds, then blows loudly through the mask, as though Selina is a fatiguing child who is actually right. He pulls on his black long-sleeved shirt, then his armoured vest. "A fair point, and a fair observation. May I make an observation of my own?"

Selina raises an eyebrow. "Shoot."

"You are an extraordinary creature."

"Don't try to compliment me," smiles Selina. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"An extraordinarily... _tiresome_ creature."

Selina's laughter lights up her eyes with mischief. "That's it? I've been called so much worse."

She moves to a cross-legged position on Bane's table, contemplating him as he dresses. "So we know that you're held together by buckles and force of will. But what is it that keeps you going?"

Bane narrows his eyes at her. Selina smiles charmingly back. "It wasn't a question about your back."

He looks at her with a degree of irritation. Selina does not know if it is directed at herself, her question, or his own inability to provide an immediate answer.

"Making a better world," says Bane at length. The answer is grandiose and typical and utterly meaningless.

Selina gives him a cynical look. "I wanted your real answer, not your public relations answer."

"Should there be a difference?"

"Your men might take you at face-value. So might Gotham's people, they've been swallowing propaganda in various forms for years... but I don't buy that bullshit."

He looks hard at her. "There are moments when I do not remember why I keep you around, Ms. Kyle."

This is a warning. Selina feels that she may have pushed him too far, may have been too straightforward. After all, Bane is used to his men rolling over on command, to people never daring to challenge him. But Selina dares. Perhaps it is draining when you aren't accustomed to it.

"If you wanted a yes-man, I could've had Farad deliver the starter."

"You could have," says Bane. There is a pause. "But then we wouldn't have had this… interesting conversation. It would have been a great pity."

Bane must have just smiled a small smile to himself, the tiniest crinkle at the edges of his eyes tells Selina that.

He fastens his wrist brace, the last part of his armour, and Selina is faced once again with the Bane that Gotham knows, the one who is not so much a man as a despot, zealot, and physical brute.

"I guess the show's over," says Selina with exaggerated disappointment. "No more beefcake."

Bane looks down at her. "I do hate to disappoint you, Ms. Kyle. Would you like an encore?"

Oh, holy crap, Bane is so definitely flirting with her, and it is making her so very nervous. He's not supposed to flirt back, he's supposed to remain cold and hardass. This is unknown territory, dangerous territory.

Yeah, it's time to blow this popsicle stand.

Selina is not stupid enough to allow her discomfort to show on her face. That would mean losing the game. Instead, she rakes her eyes down Bane's body and smiles a coy smile.

"A tempting proposition… but I'm afraid I have to go," she says.

"Must you?" asks Bane. "Why?"

He has hooked his hands comfortably into his vest now and appears to be ready to engage in a pleasant session of teasing banter on the issue. Selina is not really in the mood herself; she wants to dance along the line, not cross it, but the line has become kind of blurry as of late...

"It's past my bedtime," says Selina.

"A very good reason," says Bane. "Only... you do not have a bedtime."

"And you would know that how, exactly?"

"I make it my business to know."

"Creep," says Selina.

"Habits are a useful bit of intelligence," says Bane. "Patterns, behaviours. You know this as well as anyone."

Selina knows that he is right in saying this, but he's still a creep.

"So I ask again," says Bane. "Why are you leaving?"

Because she's anxious and uncomfortable and he's being unusually pushy and making her nervous.

"I'm hungry," says Selina. It's kind of true.

"Ah," says Bane. "Another good reason."

He makes his way towards the table where Selina is still perched. She desperately wants to lean away from him when he approaches, but pride makes her hold fast. It is a good thing, too, because all he does is reach for one of the field ration packets stacked up beside her and drop it onto her lap.

"So eat," says Bane.

Fucker. Selina does not like how he has called her bluffs twice in a row now. If this was a poker game, she would not be doing very well.

Selina picks at the packet and pulls out a dryish poppyseed cake. She rips bite-sized pieces off and eats them moodily. Bane watches her in attentive silence.

"Now I suppose you must leave because you are thirsty," says Bane.

Before Selina can answer, he annoys her tremendously by tossing her a small bottle of water.

Selina gives him a dark look as she opens the water and takes a long swig.

He notices her black glare. "What's the matter, Ms. Kyle?"

"I don't enjoy being preempted," says Selina.

"Then do not be predictable," says Bane.

He is so smirking at her behind the mask. She would punch him, except she doesn't want to die.

"So," says Bane, standing before Selina, hands hooked into his vest. "Sleep, hunger, thirst… any other baser urges you need satisfied?"

Selina has had _quite enough_ of this for one night. She's the one who plays with her prey, not the other way around. Bane has been amusing himself far too much at her expense in the last five minutes. If he was any other man, she'd have him on that bed, begging for her touch right now, for daring to attempt to tease her. But she doesn't dare go there with Bane; he is too powerful, too ruthless, too everything… normally, sex is one of her weapons, but not when this dangerous man is involved.

And so she must retreat. But retreat with style.

Selina jumps off the table and walks to Bane with her slinkiest walk and her smirkiest smirk. She reaches for his mask and, with a light touch on either side, tilts his head down toward her.

She stands on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Cheeky. But no – none that you could satisfy, anyway."

She leaves without looking back, feeling the weight of his eyes on her all the way down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

_Inspiration image: casual Selina. http://imgur.com/fZT0nLd  
_

VVVVV

For once in her life, Selina is actually minding her own business, walking home from a meetup with Jen, when she is attacked without warning by a ragtag group of around a dozen men. They divest her of her purse – and thus, her gun and whip – before she can blink, and swarm her viciously. She fights back just as viciously, smashing noses and punching throats and groins, a whirlwind of hurt amidst them. There is a moment when she has fought back so furiously that they hesitate and back off – then someone points out that she's a tiny little bitch and can't these fuckers take her down. And they come back for round two, and the numbers are against her – and some asshole has a baton, and smashes her on the back of the head with it.

That'll do it. For the first time in many, many years, Selina Kyle is knocked completely unconscious.

VVVVV

Selina awakens with a total bitch of a migraine. It takes her a moment to understand who she is, where she is, and what happened, because all she knows is that her brain is throbbing like it wants to pulse its way out of her skull.

For a long time, all she can do is swear blackly at the pain in her head and wish she were dead so that she might enjoy some relief from it.

The pain eventually recedes enough for Selina to be aware of other pains in her body; her wrists ache and her shoulders are being pulled into agony. Why?

Why? Because she is hanging from the ceiling by her wrists. It is dim in this place, and even Selina's cat-eyes have difficulty understanding where she is. It stinks like decaying bodies, but in today's Gotham that tells her little.

She sees silhouettes around her, silhouettes that could be other people, suspended like she is from the ceiling. She struggles to understand their weird shapes. No. They aren't people. Those are deer, hanging upside down by their hind legs. Small piles of offal are splattered on the floor below them; they were set to drain.

What. Venison? Abandoned abattoir? She is somewhere in the east end, then. Near the docks, probably.

Selina looks up. She is hanging from a thick steel beam, her wrists cut by cruel braces not intended for living flesh. She is only able to support her own weight on the very tips of her shoes. Her shoulders are extremely unhappy with this state of affairs and advise her of it through sharp electric bursts.

Selina tries to shake her head and feels a hot reverb of pain shoot through her skull.

Some shithead is going to get it for this.

A grey light begins to fill the place. Dawn? Perhaps. Most likely. There are no windows but rather square ventilation shafts with half-open vents letting in some small light… it is difficult to say for certain.

Everything hurts.

In the growing light, Selina is able to throw her head back and study the braces holding her up. They are simple and would be extremely easy to unlock, except that she doesn't have a free hand. And her brain disapproves of her lifting her head; apparently any shifts to her cranial blood flow are extremely unwelcome.

She studies the brace's lock mechanism as long as she can bear to and then lets her head fall back onto her chest for some relief.

Her eyes rest on the dead doe hanging beside her. The doe's gutted underside is turned away from Selina so that she can only see the doe's soft back, her delicate ear, her large, soft, still-open eye. She could still be alive if it wasn't for the pile of her own guts slowly rotting below her. If it wasn't for the fly that lands on her unblinking eye and stays there.

Selina will not be like this doe, this beautiful corpse.

Slowly, painfully, Selina begins to rock. Her wrists feel as though they are being cut to the bone by the action, but she needs the momentum.

She bites a mouthful of her own hair to stop herself from screaming. Back and forth, back and forth, her feet gaining a little more height with every swing. Blood courses liberally down her forearms. She must be careful not to deglove her hands – she's seen that happen before, and it ain't pretty.

She braces her core and, at the apex of the highest swing she can achieve without utterly dismantling her wrists, lifts her legs up and around the steel beam above her head.

It feels much better, in the sense that her wrists and shoulders are no longer screaming, but much worse, in the sense that the upside-down headrush is wreaking havoc on her throbbing brain. Selina stifles a groan by pressing her lips onto the cold steel beam that she is clinging to.

Normally Selina could hold onto a structure like this using only her knees for days. She spent some time dancing on the pole in her former life; it gave her incredible strength in her thighs and her core. But she cannot hang for days now; she suspects a concussion and besides, she would really like to get loose before whatever asshole put her here comes back to gut her like the doe. Selina does not fancy seeing the floor decorated with her own intestines.

She gets to work on the braces using her mouth. It is disgusting business, they taste like the thousand dead things that hung from them and are just as filthy with clotted blood and fur. She only needs to release one, only needs to hold off on vomitting for long enough to click it open…

Done. Her left hand flexes and is immediately sent to assist the right. And Selina is free. And Selina tumbles to the floor. And almost passes out from the movement, the rush of blood from her brain as she is right-side up again.

Minutes pass. She manages a great victory: clambering to her hands and knees without throwing up. She takes in some deep breaths to steady herself. The air is foul, fly-infested, and her mouth tastes like death. Oh for a breath of Gotham's delicious polluted air instead of these carcasses…

Selina stands and makes her wobbly way to the ventilation shafts. She pulls the covers off of them to let in light and air. That is the only benefit they can offer her, alas – a real cat might be able to fit through them, but Selina cannot. There is a solid steel door at the other end of the room. Its handle moves but it is bolted on the other side.

Selina searches the room for something thin to start playing with the door. It's not the bolt she will attack, it is the hinges. The dawn light affords her improved visibility as she searches. It is around seven in the morning. She guesstimates that she was caught at around midnight the previous night on her way home from her visit with Jen. So she was unconscious for about six hours.

Selina is extremely curious about what assholes caught her. She knows that she has enemies – many enemies – but she wasn't aware that any were actually on the warpath about anything. Whose panties did she get into a twist recently? She hasn't even stolen anything in weeks…

The answer comes to her at the exact moment that the heavy bolt is slid open on the other side of the door.

Selina freezes for a split second, then vaults to where she was suspended from the beam. With a grimace, she grabs the cruel braces that held her wrists and twists her arms so that, in the dim light, she appears to still be hooked onto the beam.

No time to replace the vent covers; she will have to hope her visitor is unobservant.

Selina herself is extremely observant. The door is pushed open and a squat, muscular man enters the place, holding a perfumed handkerchief over his mouth in one hand and a carving knife in the other. Selina does not like his look; he exudes sadism.

He is followed into the room by two thugs who are instantly forgettable to Selina, save for the puffy areas on their faces which she suspects she inflicted herself last night.

Selina pretends to still be unconscious until she feels the blade against her cheek. She 'awakens' with a fake gasp, confusion, fear.

The men give her enough time to take them in, to cry some frightened tears.

"Do you know who I am?" asks the squat man.

Selina gives him the wide terrified woman eyes, shakes her head no.

"Jack," he says, running a finger along his knife in what is presumably supposed to be a threatening manner. "You know what they call me? Jack the Ripper."

It takes a considerable amount of Selina's self-control not to roll her eyes. Instead she blinks away more tears.

"You know the Black Spades?"

Selina shakes her head again.

Jack smacks the flat of the blade against Selina's face. It hurts and will bruise. Selina will kill him. But now is not quite the time; she needs them to let their guard down a little more, or their pants (because, inevitably, that will follow). She is injured and cannot reliably take down three alert armed men right now.

"Don't lie to me," says Jack. "You fucking killed them."

"Please, I–"

The blade is brought down again; this time it is a slash at Selina's side. A superficial wound along her ribs. But oh, he is so dead. Selina keeps her eyes down so that the flash of death intent therein does not immediately alert him.

"Don't you fucking lie to me. It took me months, but I found the footage. You got caught on camera at the storage complex. 'The Cat', they call you. You killed them. I'ma find out if there's more than one way to skin you."

He slashes her again, cutting through her pullover and the tank top underneath. Selina cries, pleads no, please, no.

She might have to take them all on very shortly. She squints an eye open at Jack. Her heel will crush his throat in a moment. Then to take care of the other two… she is less certain about that in her weakened state.

"You still don't get it? You dumb bitch. You killed Ace. You killed my brother."

Then a wondrous thing happens.

"You are mistaken, I fear," says a voice that everyone in Gotham has come to know and fear.

Four pairs of eyes focus immediately on the door, where a massive figure stands.

"B-Bane?" says Jack. He is white as a sheet and Selina suspects that he just shat his pants.

"Good," says Bane jovially as he swaggers into the room. "You know me. We can forgo introductions."

Jack has turned away from Selina to look at Bane. It is the last mistake he will ever make. Selina, still clinging to the beam, swings forward, grasps either side of his head with her knees and squeezes them together hard, viciously, one knee at level with his temple, the other with his jaw. There is a muted crack as his neck breaks.

The two men who accompanied Jack are given approximately five seconds to mill about in confusion until Bane ends their lives by clinically crushing their tracheas.

Dal's worried face pokes into the room, as well as Farad's.

"Stinks in here," says Farad by way of greeting.

Bane does not seem bothered by the smell; perhaps he can barely smell at all with that contraption on his face.

Selina has regained her feet and steps over Jack with disdain. She notices that he is still breathing, despite his broken neck, so she stands over him and lovingly pushes the sharp heel of her shoe through his throat.

A stiletto is just another word for a dagger. Men tend to forget that as they watch women prance on twin blades…

"For calling me a dumb bitch," says Selina as she ends his life. "I'm actually just a bitch."

The air is thick and no-one wants to stay in this abattoir any longer than necessary. Selina frisks the corpses for anything interesting (one phone) and follows Dal out into the morning sun and the (relatively) clear Gotham air. She takes deep breaths of it to purge the filth of the slaughter house from her nostrils.

One of the black Escalades that Bane's men use is waiting on the street. Selina takes her bearings: she was right, they are by the docks. She was being held in the basement of an abandoned specialty meat place and almost became specialty meat herself.

Dal hops into the driver's seat and Farad climbs into the front next to him. Oh, goody. Selina gets to have a tête-à-tête with Bane in the back.

She pulls open the door. Just as she is about to climb in, a sudden lightheadedness hits her. Though her legs collapse momentarily below her, she does not fall, because _someone_ was watching her very carefully from behind and caught her. He lifts her into the vehicle in silence and climbs in after her; Selina says nothing either because such embarrassing moments of weakness are best passed over as quickly as possible.

Neither Dal nor Farad have noticed, though Dal tells her she looks very white when he looks at her in the rearview mirror.

"I'm fine," says Selina. She feels clammy and cold. "Sorry in advance if I puke and ruin the upholstery."

"Barsad will give you medical attention," says Bane. He turns to Dal with a degree of impatience. "Drive."

Dal doesn't wait to be told twice. He floors it and the Escalade peels down Gotham's empty streets.

Bane pulls up a privacy shield between the back seats and the front, effectively sealing Dal and Farad into the driving cabin.

Selina, leaning back heavily on her seat, weakly raises an eyebrow at him.

Bane talks to her without looking at her, staring fiercely out of the window instead. "The men that attacked you. Tell me about them."

Selina is not feeling good and would rather sleep. "Do we have to do this now? There were a lot of them and I can't really remember…"

"Make an effort."

His tone brooks no argument, so Selina holds her throbbing head and rattles off the best description she can while her memory is fresh; heights, builds, hair, injuries she thinks she inflicted, clothing...

"Good. The mobile. Give it to me," says Bane. He holds out a hand and does that impatient beckoning motion that annoys Selina. But today… today she passes the phone over obediently, because she doesn't think her eyes could even focus on it right now.

Bane slips the phone into one of his many pockets. He still hasn't looked at Selina directly. Is she that hideous right now?

"Bane...?"

He turns to look at her. The cold fury in his gaze makes Selina swallow involuntarily. His mask has become the maw of a nightmare wolf, metallic teeth aglitter.

He is _furious_ , and Selina is very glad it isn't directed at her. She had no idea that he was this pissed off. His absolute control over his rage is admirable; his breathing is as steady as ever, his movements slow, and his voice is level. Only his unusually truncated speech gives him away. And his eyes afire with ice-cold wrath.

Oh right, he's waiting for her to talk. "How did you know I was in trouble…?"

He swings his hard gaze back to the window and Selina is surprised it doesn't shatter from the impact.

"Not important."

Well, actually, it kind of is… Selina would like to know if she is under surveillance, and if so, for what purpose. But this doesn't seem the moment to push the issue. Besides, she is so sleepy…

She sinks into the warm and comfortable seat and feels a wave of sweet sleep come onto her.

A sharp tap on the cheek wakes her up. Did she just get cuffed?

" _What_ ," spits Selina.

"You may sleep after you have been seen by Barsad."

Selina gives Bane a lethal look, which does not impress him at all.

She stares out of the window but, inexorably, sleep comes onto her again.

This time she is pulled out of it by Bane shaking her shoulder, reawakening the pain there.

Selina hisses and catches his hand in a hard grip. "I'm going to break your fingers if you do that again."

"A terrifying prospect," says Bane.

Right, so yeah, he doesn't care about threats of pain… whatever. Five minutes pass during which Selina manages to stay awake. Then she dozes off without even realizing it.

This time he wakes her up gently. The touch of his fingertips along her jawline.

For some reason, this gentler touch frightens Selina more than any of the rest and she remains awake and aware until they reach the Tower.

Instead of parking, Dal pulls the vehicle all the way up to the underground elevator doors so that Selina only has 3 steps to take to make it inside. Barsad is waiting in front of the elevator, his face even more serious than usual. He offers Selina his arm as she makes her way, somewhat less steadily than normal, into the elevator. She gives him a black glare in response.

Bane doesn't exit the vehicle. He leans out of Selina's open door. "Barsad. You will take care of her. No other touches her. Send Piotr down here, and three others, armed all."

Barsad nods and communicates this information to the men in question by walkie-talkie as the elevator takes him and Selina to the 3rd floor.

A kind of infirmary has been set up there. Men in various states of health lie on some camp beds, watching the news on a flat-screen TV. They give Selina curious glances, which she returns with dagger eyes. She hates being seen to be weak.

"Do you have _any_ medical training at all?" asks Selina as she follows Barsad, ready to be an extremely reticent patient.

"I was a field medic by trade, actually," says Barsad. "Before I met Bane. You must let me help you, or Bane will kill me."

Hard to argue with that. Selina allows herself to be led to a curtained-off area in a back corner and strips to her underwear so that Barsad can see the extent of the damage. He pokes and prods with cold gloved hands and a grave face.

"They said they found you in a slaughterhouse," says Barsad.

Selina's eyes have difficulty focusing on him. "Yes…"

He taps her cheek. "Stay awake."

Selina almost bites his fingers. "Can't I just nap while you do whatever?"

"You have a concussion. No sleeping yet. In three or four hours. Here is something for the pain."

A pill is slipped into Selina's mouth, then water.

"This isn't one of Bane's painkillers, is it?" asks Selina, swallowing. "Nah, he has those liquid thingies…"

Barsad gives her a very dark look. "You must not speak of those things."

He slips an icepack behind her head, where a large goose-egg has formed, and lies her down on her back.

"Your shoulders will be tender, but I believe nothing has been torn. You are fortunate to be so light. It could have been far worse."

"They could have hung me upside down like the deer," says Selina drowsily. "That would have sucked."

"It would have been better news for your wrists," says Barsad. He tuts as he looks them over, the delicate skin torn almost to the bone.

"How did these get so damaged?" asks Barsad. "I thought you were just hung…"

"Had to swing around to get my legs up. So I could open the braces."

"You managed to escape…?"

"Kinda. Got out of the rack, but didn't get out of the room until Bane got there. I had it… _mostly_ under control."

Barsad raises his eyebrows and says nothing. Selina flinches as he cleans the wounds; it hurts more than the original injury, that cold lingering burn of antiseptic. The flaking tracks of dried blood are wiped gently from her forearms and elbows.

The long cuts along her ribcage are given the same treatment. Barsad is eminently professional, lifting her bra just enough to wipe clean the top end of the injury and bandage it before placing her bra back into place.

"Nothing broken," says Barsad when he has finished tidying her up. "You will walk this off quickly."

"With only my pride hurt," says Selina. "I'm not really the damsel in distress type."

"Piotr pulled some footage from a traffic camera, just before you arrived," says Barsad. "Of the men catching you. You were a tiger amidst jackals. They won only through numbers."

Selina stares at the ceiling. "Great. Now everyone can witness my loss. Thanks Piotr."

"I believe they were more impressed than you think. And you should thank Piotr. It was due to his skill that we found you. And now with this camera footage… Bane will have faces."

"I guess," says Selina.

"Don't guess. Know." Barsad gives her a long look. "They are dead men walking."

VVVVV

Barsad covers Selina gently with a sheet, providing her with some modesty as she is still in her underwear. He obtains her permission to throw out her clothes; they reek unbearably of death and are mostly in tatters due to Jack's knife. He helps her to a nearby bathroom where, wearing her sheet as a toga, she is able to freshen up and rid herself of the taste of decay in her mouth through copious amounts of toothpaste.

Then he settles next to Selina's bed with the sole purpose of preventing her from dozing off for several hours. This makes Selina extremely grouchy. He suggests that she try to stay awake by paying attention to the sound of the TV. The men in the infirmary have appalling taste in television; when it's not repetitive news about how Gotham is screwed (old, guys) it's cheesy daytime soaps.

The time passes slowly, but it does pass, and eventually, after a close examination of her pupils, Barsad permits Selina to close her eyes.

"I will not be far," he says as he exits the little nook occupied by Selina, pulling the curtains shut behind him.

He really doesn't go far. Selina can see his boots in the gap between the curtain and the floor; he has taken a seat out there and is apparently on guard duty. She hears him talk to others occasionally in a low voice. She tries to catch the words but they are spoken softly... and she is not sure that it is English… it is very relaxing, though…

Sleep takes her.


	16. Chapter 16

_Inspiration image: Selina and her apple. http://i.imgur.com/D8mZkHd.gif  
_

VVVVV

It is evening when Selina awakens. She cracks open one eye. The dying rays of the sun make the off-white curtains around her glow a beautiful golden orange, a colour that reminds her of carrots, sweet potatoes, peaches, apricots…

Also, she is a little peckish.

She tries and fails to lift her head. Her shoulders have seized up, pissed at their misuse the night earlier. Her neck is stiff as hell. Her wrists burn. Her ribs have bruised up around the cuts and angrily remind her of their existence with every breath she takes.

A string of clench-jawed swears escapes Selina.

" _Fuckshitfuckingdamnmotherfucker_."

"Language, Ms. Kyle."

Selina's eyes fly open. Bane is sitting at the foot of her bed like some kind of benevolent monster.

"I didn't realize I had an audience," says Selina, looking wearily at the ceiling.

Something drops onto Selina's sheet.

"Eat," says Bane.

She doesn't bother to look, sending a seeking hand down instead to grab the thing. She expects to feel the crinkly package of an MRE, but instead it is smooth and slightly cool to the touch.

"... an apple?!" exclaims Selina. "Where did you even get this?"

Fresh fruit is a costly rarity in Gotham these days, along with vegetables and anything that hasn't been freeze-dried and vacuum-sealed.

Bane makes a movement that might be a shrug.

… whatever. Apple, meet mouth.

Selina doesn't remember apples being so incredibly fragrant. It smells delicious. She takes a bite. The texture is so crisp, and so much sweeter than she remembers. She didn't even especially like apples before, but this is just incredible. So much better than dry field rations. She tries not to groan as she eats.

Bane watches her avidly, jealously almost, in the same way a man dying of thirst would watch someone drink… the opening and closing of her jaw as she chews, her lips, the way her fingers grip it lightly, her tongue darting out to lick at a juice-covered fingertip...

It makes Selina a little self-aware and she tries to cool it with her apple makeout session.

Bane's fingers twitch in her sheet. He places his hand on his knee instead and looks slowly and deliberately away as Selina finishes her snack.

"Amazing," says Selina. "You're a great hunter to be bringing me such prizes."

He huffs through the mask. "You are easy to please, if you think that this fruit is a great trophy."

"I'm _appreciative_ ," says Selina.

"Had I known my hunting prowess was being judged, I would have brought you the heads of men instead."

Selina raises an eyebrow. That is kind of a weird thing to say. "Just the apple was enough… a million times better than the rations we've been getting."

"An unfortunate state of affairs."

One that you caused, you big revolutionary beastling.

Oh, the things that Selina dares not say. She gives Bane an oblique look.

There is blood on his wrist brace.

"Did something happen to you?" asks Selina, lifting a hand just far enough to point at the brace. Her shoulder protests emphatically.

Bane turns to look at the blood with mild interest. "Ah. No. It is not mine."

"Whose is it…?"

"It does not matter. They are dead now," says Bane, his tone jolly.

They…? So there was more than one. Selina has a sneaking suspicion that the men who assaulted her the night before will never see another sunrise. Also, she is now quite convinced that Bane was being literal about bringing her the heads of men.

"I am going to move you upstairs," says Bane. "I cannot spare a man to watch you in the infirmary through the night. It is safer up there."

"I don't need to be watched," says Selina with as much outrage as she can muster through her fatigue. "I can take care of myself."

"I informed you of my intentions out of courtesy," says Bane, rising. "Not because you have a choice in the matter."

Normally, Selina's blood would be boiling, but it seems that she has lost enough blood to make that difficult at the moment. Instead she sets her jaw and glares.

"Do not struggle. It would not be wise." Bane is looming over Selina's bed now, and she finally clues in that he means to move her literally. Physically. Himself.

"I can walk–!" protests Selina as she is pulled into Bane's decidedly unloving arms and lifted off the bed. He is kind enough to keep the sheet wrapped around her.

"Unless you intend to call attention to yourself throughout the building, I suggest you be quiet."

Bane pushes aside the curtain and walks through the infirmary with his reticent burden. The infirmary is mercifully quiet – at least, most of the patients are feigning naps in Bane's presence. Good – more eyes closed means less witnesses to Selina's disgrace. She hates them all.

They reach the elevators without incident.

"I believe your quarters are on the 53rd floor," says Bane, hitting the button in question with a knuckle.

"You believe? You _know_."

His eyes crease at the corners in a small smile at Selina's truculent tone. Their faces are close together, closer, perhaps, than they have ever been, save for Selina's stolen kiss at the New Year's Eve party. The astringent medicinal smell that Selina has come to associate with Bane reaches her nose. It used to inspire such dread in her the minute she detected it. Now, not so much.

At this particular moment, in fact, it inspires only annoyance. She huffs and turns her face away from the smiling eyes and their accompanying metallic maw of death.

Selina never bothers to lock her door. Bane does not seem to expect it to be locked, either, when he reaches for the handle. Maybe he's way more of a creep than she thought he was.

Bane kneels and places Selina lightly onto the nest of blankets that serves her as a bed. Her sheet catches as she is dropped and falls off of her torso. Bane's eyes are drawn to her wounds. Well, mostly her wounds, there is an upward flicker to her bra, but...

"Those will scar," says Bane. "A pity."

Selina looks down at herself, where the two long swollen gashes glow an angry red. Barsad must have removed the bandages to let the cuts dry. "I don't care. I have a lot of them."

Selina watches Bane's eyes move from scar to faded scar on her stomach, her ribs. Knife fights, shrapnel, barbed wire, cigarette burns – you name it, Selina has probably been acquainted with it.

"Many of these are old," says Bane.

"There was a… steep learning curve, to do the job I do," says Selina. "And as for the really old ones – I had a rough childhood."

She pulls the sheet back over herself and looks up at Bane, whose expression she cannot read.

"Of course, whatever I suffered can't compare to being injured so badly you need to wear a mask for the rest of your life," says Selina. "So I'm not complaining."

"I am grateful for the mask," says Bane, rising with a low grunt. "It keeps me human."

He leaves her in the growing darkness to ponder this thought.

VVVVV

"May I join you?"

Selina looks up. Who the hell is joining her at breakfast so cheerily at 4:30 a.m.?

It is Crane.

"This is usually a quiet time around here," remarks Selina pointedly as Crane drops his tray across from her. He gives her a small smile that emphasizes his pretty cheekbones. Those cheekbones are basically the only reason that Selina doesn't get up bitchily and move to another table.

"I heard what happened," says Crane. He gives her a once over, but Selina has managed to conceal most of her wounds, save her obviously bandaged wrists.

"Yeah," says Selina, tight-jawed. "Not a fun time."

Crane irritates Selina by eating loudly and cracking his half-empty coffee mug onto the table like it's his gavel. She is tired and sore and not in a sociable mood and she is beginning to think that his cheekbones and eyelashes are just not worth sitting through his noise.

"Not a fun time for you, yeah," says Crane around a mouthful of granola. "But it was hell for the other guys. Literal hell."

Selina is intrigued enough to detach her eyes up from her plate and look at him. "Explain."

"You heard Bane went after them?"

Selina shrugs. "I… assumed so, from talking to him last night."

Crane smiles a slow smile that gives Selina the creeps. "He didn't just kill them, you know. That wasn't good enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of my past – ah – exploits?" asks Crane.

"Your experiments with fear chemicals? Vaguely," says Selina.

Crane almost giggles to himself, and Selina wonders how tenuous his grip on his sanity actually is. Maybe he's actually really good at acting sane.

"Bane got those guys all rounded up – the ones who attacked you, and those who were involved in planning it. Nine of them in all. He locked them up in the abattoir where they originally had you. Sealed off all the ventilation shafts. And then... Get this... he let me spray the whole place up with my fear toxin."

From what Selina has read about Crane's toxin – much more than she let him know, actually – this sounds like a horrible, horrible thing. The abattoir was a terrible place to be locked into when she had her full mental capacities. She can only imagine those gutted animal corpses under the effect of a terror drug...

Unsure how to react, she keeps her face neutral and turns her attention back to her plate.

"But that's not all," says Crane with a laugh that is either nervous or excited. "I used to wear this mask to see how my patients were affected by the gas. It wasn't even a scary mask – a sack with eyeholes, really. But Bane went into the abattoir after they were sprayed… with _his_ mask on, of course. Which is scary enough as is, much less with my toxin involved. You should have heard them scream. It was like the devil himself had risen among them…"

Crane is looking at the ceiling with starry eyes. Selina's appreciation of his pretty face stops right there. He's actually a psychopath.

"What a way to die," says Crane, shaking his head in wonder.

Selina has quite lost her appetite. She pushes her plate away and excuses herself, claiming a renewed headache.

VVVVV

Selina lies low for two or three days, continuing to take her meals at weird times when the cafeteria is quiet (and hopefully Crane-free). She is regularly visited by Barsad, who makes a very tolerable nurse now that Selina is more used to the idea. During one of his visits, she asks him how he transitioned from medic to merc. Apparently, the money was way better. Selina can understand that all too well.

She drops the painkillers as soon as she can. Something about Bane's suffering and his subsequent lifelong addiction (if that is the right word?) has made her leery of them. Her head begins to feel better; her goose egg subsides to a robin's egg; her shoulders loosen their tyrannical tenseness; her ribs scab up.

The wrists are another story. For one, they are on the borderline of infection and worry Barsad tremendously in this respect. Apparently the braces that locked her in were just as filthy as they tasted, and she is damn lucky she didn't cut her mouth open on them. He puts her on strong antibiotics.

For two, her injured wrists are an obvious reminder to herself and those around her of what happened to her, of her failure to defend herself, of her weakness. All of her other injuries she can hide easily, but these… Selina goes through her clothing, but the simple fact of the matter is that she doesn't own many long-sleeved tops, because she always wants her hands as free as possible with her kind of job. She has tons of sleeveless tops, lots of three-quarter sleeved things, but nothing that comes close to covering her hands. Unless she wears her winter coat all the time. Which, no.

Crouched over the four suitcases overflowing with clothing that take up a corner of her quarters, Selina thinks. She stares at her mangled wrists, which Barsad has now insisted she allow to dry without further bandaging.

Yes. Yes, she knows _exactly_ what shirts she wants.

Their owner might have an objection, but he doesn't need to know. He won't miss one or two. Will he?

Selina waits for the wee hours of the morning, then sneaks into the sewers.

VVVVV

Selina swipes two of Bane's black long-sleeved shirts in response to her wrist-covering dilemma. She gives Bane three days to reclaim his property before she deems it hers. He does not claim it.

Maybe it would have helped if she had informed him of the deadline. He is probably a bit busy being a despot nowadays. Oh well.

She pulls one of the shirts on after a shower one morning. It is large on her, of course, but that is the point – the sleeves cover the entirety of her hands until her knuckles. Her nasty, scabbing wrists are hidden from view.

She turns, checking herself out in the mirror. She loves clothing of any colour, so long as it's black. The shirt almost fits her like a short dress with a hemline ending just above mid-thigh. She just has to not bend over like an idiot and give surrounding folks a panty-shot.

Selina walks back into her room to find that she has a visitor. He is sitting in her favourite chair. Well, it is her only chair, so by necessity her favourite. And it's not really her chair, it is the chair of the VP who used to have this office, a fancy black executive chair. But those are details. And the VP is dead. So really, it's hers.

"I believe you're sitting in my chair," says Selina as she strides in.

Bane swivels slowly to face her. "I believe you are wearing my shirt."

It is a very fair point to make, and one that Selina concedes with an elegant, if rueful, shrug. She walks towards Bane with a bit of a sway and delights in seeing him fight to control his gaze, keeping it focused with difficulty on her face rather than her shoulder where the shirt is slipping off, her bare legs, her fingertips just poking out of the sleeves.

Selina smiles her cat smile because she knows she is dead sexy right now. Bane sees the smile and stubbornness hardens his gaze. His resolve is set: he will not permit himself such lapses in control.

Oh, but she's going to have some fun with him right now.

"You will return the shirt," says Bane. He uses his dictator voice, his imperious one, the one that is obeyed without question by all who hear it…

Except Selina, obviously.

"I think I'll take my chair back first," says Selina. She slides onto Bane's lap like a million girls before her have onto the laps of a million boys, an innocuous flirty gesture anywhere in the world… but here, between this specific woman and this particular man, it is an act of bravado and possibly stupidity; only time will tell.

"Or we could just share the shirt. Like we're sharing this chair," suggests Selina. She tries to keep the obvious purr out of her voice, but it makes its way there, subtle, beckoning.

She is vastly amused by Bane's sudden interest in staring fixedly at the wall. He has been taken off guard. Decidedly. Points for Selina.

"I do not think that would be a... convenient arrangement," says Bane.

"I think it's very convenient," says Selina. She wiggles. "You're warm."

Bane looks at her and Selina sees a flash of warning in his eyes. And yet, and yet… his gaze flickers down to where she is nestled in his lap… and he raises no objections. It is a momentary lapse; a blink later and his sightline is fixed back onto a point on the wall.

These small cracks in Bane's control are candy to Selina. He is just a man. He makes it easy to forget that, most of the time.

"May I ask why you have decided to requisition items of my clothing, Ms. Kyle?"

Selina sobers up a touch. "Oh, that. You'll be disappointed to learn that I have a reason beyond just getting on your nerves."

She pulls back her sleeves and shows him her ugly wrists. "I needed something long enough to hide this while it heals. I don't need to remind everyone of my weakness and my failure every time they see me…"

Bane looks unconvinced by her reasoning. "You inflicted these injuries by successfully breaking free from confinement. Is it a failure?"

"In the sense that I got caught in the first place," says Selina, pulling the sleeves back down. "I try not to let that happen, as a rule."

"I have broken that rule myself," says Bane.

"I'm aware," says Selina drily. She remembers that fateful day all too well.

"And look at you now. Tamely sitting on my lap, of your own free will."

How the hell did he turn this conversation around so that he is back in control and she is not?

His eyes smile at her.

"An interesting interpretation," says Selina. She curls herself up and leans into him so that her head rests on his shoulder. "But you're the one sitting docilely in my chair and letting me climb all over you."

"Not an unpleasant experience, admittedly," says Bane. Selina hears his voice through his chest, a rumble punctuated by his breath being pushed through the mask.

"So who caught who?" asks Selina.

Bane does not answer.

Selina's fingers trace an idle pattern on his chest. There is a V in the front of his armoured vest that gives her access to some skin, just a small triangle below his collarbone.

"You may keep the shirts," says Bane at length.

"May I?" says Selina. "I don't often get retroactively gifted the things I steal. That takes all the fun out of it."

She taps a finger thoughtfully on her lip. "So, if I steal your sweet shearling coat, will you give it to me too?"

"No."

The answer is immediate and emphatic. Selina smiles into Bane's chest. Oh, she is so stealing that thing one of these days.

"Alright, alright. Thank you for the shirts. They are really comfortable." Selina inhales deeply at her forearm. "Plus, they smell good. Like your anaesthetic and faint deodorant and, somewhere far below that, even fainter man."

Bane's right eyebrow twitches upward.

"I have an… unusually good sense of smell," says Selina. "It's not as wonderful a gift as most assume... there are more things that stink in the world than things that smell nice."

Selina looks at Bane and something dawns on her. "With that thing over your face, you have no idea how delicious I smell right now."

"I can only imagine," says Bane. "The mask does, unfortunately, interfere with certain senses."

"So take it off," says Selina, a coy smile gracing her lips.

"I think… not," says Bane. She feels him tense under her, as though readying himself for a lunge at his mask on Selina's part. As if she's that stupid.

"Do you ever take it off?"

"Stop asking questions on the subject," says Bane.

"Or?"

"Or I shall fling you through the window."

Selina pushes a hand against the desk so that the chair swivels, slowly, and gives her a view of the window in question. "I would've believed you would, at some point. Before."

"You think it is an empty threat?" asks Bane. He looks at her seriously, menacingly.

Their eyes meet for a long moment as Selina tries to decipher his intentions.

"You won't do it," says Selina.

"You have not given me a reason to," says Bane. "Yet."

" _Yet_ ," concedes Selina.

She resumes her lazy finger-tracings on his chest. Her fingers, bored of the confined V of skin, wander higher, to his collarbone, his neck, his traps…

"You seem tense," says Selina as she doodles an idle figure eight at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Why?"

Bane slides a hand under Selina's shirt and onto her hip and she tenses immediately. "I could ask you the same question."

"Ah," says Selina. He did very succinctly answer her question, but at the same time, she doesn't quite know what the answer is. She is wary of his touch, is he just as leery of hers?

Out of sheer willfulness, she does not pull her hand away from contact with his skin, so he does not pull his away from hers. He drags his hand up in a rough caress that is a poor imitation of her own light-fingered touches. The feel of his fingers on her hip bone sets Selina's instincts on high alert; he has never touched her like this before – never tried, and never been invited to, and she is not sure what to make of it. He is very obviously a warrior and not a lover; there is no seductive know-how in the touch, but there is danger in it. A lot of danger.

"Now you are very tense," remarks Bane. He seems a little amused.

Is he trying to outplay her at this game? Her game?

He is going to lose.

Selina bites her lip, undoes the buckles on the front of his vest, and sends a hand under his shirt. He almost flinches at the feel of her fingertips, the butterfly-touches that brush down from the middle of his chest down his abs to just above his navel, where the wide clasp of the back brace halts her path. Selina is a lover first and foremost, and a warrior second, and knows exactly what she is doing.

"I don't know," says Selina. "I think you're more tense than I am right now."

Bane seems to have been holding his breath. He expels it in a mask-filtered rush and lifts Selina by the waist as easily as if she were a kitten. He places her on his lap so that she is facing him and her bare legs dangle on either side of the chair.

Selina lets out a small, deliberate gasp. "Naughty."

Welp. This is not where she thought this was going.

Bane gives her what is definitely a very appreciative look. It is a look she is used to seeing in men, but not in this man. Though she does not show it, Selina is decidedly uncomfortable and ready to flee. Straddling Bane wearing only panties and one of his shirts was not in today's plans, because suicide wasn't in today's plans.

"Tell me, Ms. Kyle," says Bane. "This little game of oneupmanship we are playing here. How will we know who wins?"

His fingers are unyielding on her waist as she tries to pull back. She feels his warm breath on her cheeks, her lips. He is too close.

"...Or have you already lost?" asks Bane when the silence between them lingers.

Selina's self-preservation instincts are briefly overcome by a flare of pride. Her eyes are practically aglow with her powerless anger; how dare he suggest that she would lose – she invented this game. It is only because she is frightened of certain death that she doesn't dare play for keeps.

"You have such fire in you," says Bane. There is a low burn of admiration in the way he says it, of want.

But Selina doesn't dare push it. Can't dare. Because he is Bane, and she values her life.

"If you were any other man in the world, I'd have you on your knees worshipping me right now," says Selina.

"But I am not."

"No."

"So here we are."

Selina can't even look at him. She's too chickenshit to continue to play. It is her turn to stare at a point on the wall.

"I believe I have won," says Bane when Selina makes no move to take her turn in the game. "Now… what is my prize?"

He draws her closer. Selina stiffens when she feels him pull at the shirt already sliding down her left shoulder. The warm metal of his mask is pressed hard against her flesh there, a crude mimic of a kiss, as though he could taste her, smell her, if he pressed hard enough.

Selina bitterly regrets the moment that she decided to amuse herself by widening the cracks in his control. It was a mistake. Now she has loosed the beast.

"Your prize? I won't touch you again," says Selina, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Ever. No more games."

She is offering him his control back, and hopes to all the gods that might be listening that her offer is accepted.

"On the contrary, Ms. Kyle, I enjoy your little games," says Bane. "But it seems you only play on your own terms. You can touch me, but when I touch you – look, you flinch away as though I am a monster."

Selina stills herself, because yes, she was flinching away.

"You're not a monster," says Selina as he drags his mask – mouth? – up her neck and pulls her towards him so that she is flush against his chest, so that their hips lock together, her legs around his waist.

He's not a monster. But that doesn't mean she's not scared to death of him. Not that she wants to admit that.

"Show me," says Bane into her neck.

Show him that she doesn't think he's monster? Selina can think of a few ways that she could, none of which are appealing to her right now, but he is waiting…

"No," says Selina. "You show me."

This takes him off guard. He did not expect her to put the onus on him to modulate his own behaviour, to prove he isn't a monster.

Bane loosens his grasp on Selina enough that she can sit back.

"Capricious creature. You began this game. Did you not intend to finish it?"

"I was just playing," says Selina, as humbly and contritely as she can manage. "A bad judgement call. I played with fire, I got burned. It won't happen again."

Bane studies her, then his eyes smile – which makes Selina's blood run cold. He raises a hand that lingers in a not-quite-caress on her cheek. She feels the roughness of his wrist brace against her jaw. Ungentle fingertips trace her cheekbone.

"My dear… I fear it is far too late for that."

This is not what Selina wanted to hear. Her gaze seeks his and she sees the truth there, that she has been trapped by all of her own innocuous flirtations and small seductions and is now caught in something bigger of her own unwitting creation. Now Bane is not ready to let her go and continue as though nothing ever happened between them, as though Selina hadn't been – well, Selina – and lured, and beguiled, and enchanted, over weeks and fortnights and months.

She has inadvertently captivated one of the most dangerous men in the world, and has therefore become a captive in turn.

A buzz of static draws Bane's attention away from Selina. She hears Barsad's voice calling to Bane, politely but urgently, from a radio transceiver somewhere in his multitudes of pockets.

Bane takes in a slow, deep breath and expels it just as slowly. He allows his hand to fall from Selina's face, slowly, touching her all the way down from cheek to neck to breast to waist.

"We will continue this... _discussion_ another time."

Relief floods through Selina. Thank you, Barsad, you're the best.

Bane lifts Selina off of his lap and deposits her on the desk, reminding her of how much stronger he is, of how much he dominates her physically.

He plants a hand on either side of her on the desk. As discreetly as she can, she leans back.

"If these shirts are to be a staple of your wardrobe while your wounds heal, you will wear some form of trousers when you are around my men."

"Fine," says Selina. She doesn't like being told what to do, but sometimes you pick your battles, and this is definitely one of those times.

"It will not be necessary around me, however," says Bane. He gives her a last, burning look before pushing himself off of the desk and heading for the door.

VVVVV

Once Bane has made his exit, Selina pulls on some jeans and makes immediately for the roof, where the cold February air calms her confusion and cools her flushed cheeks. She perches herself on her usual spot on top of the utility room and tries to get her thoughts in order.

It is painfully apparent that she has now pushed Bane too far. She never intended to seduce him, to have him actually interested in her sexually. He was far too dangerous for that, and long ago she decided to keep him at arm's length. Her intent was to intrigue him, attract him, keep him curious enough about her that he wouldn't kill her on a whim. Her goal was to make herself interesting and amusing to him, but at the same time to be too independent and fierce, too irreverent, too unreliable, for him to actually be interested in anything more.

It was a fine line to walk – and usually Selina has an excellent sense of balance. But it appears that today she veered a touch too much on the side of seduction. It was too much to wear Bane's shirt, tease him about getting it back, sit on his lap.

In hindsight those actions were stupid. But at the time – thirty minutes ago – they made perfect sense, because she thought his control was still intact. He had her in her bra a few days ago and barely blinked at it. Selina realizes now that she didn't know how close to the edge he was. How close he must have been this whole time. When she made him dance with her at the New Year's Eve party, when she kissed his mask, when she cat-called him and stuck around his quarters when he was getting dressed… how close was he then?

She thought she could read men, but Bane is not a normal man, and his self-command is such that he can camouflage the signs with far more success than others. So she made a mistake, overestimated his self-control, made him admit that he wants her.

And now, because of her forcing the issue today, they are at a point of no return, at least in his opinion. He has made that very clear. _I fear it is far too late for that._

Selina shudders. Not too late. Far too late. Beyond recourse, past fixing, no possible remedies.

Now how does she behave around him? Whatever it takes to stay alive, Selina will do. But her actions must be strategic. Does she encourage his advances? Is that safer than playing hard to get, or outright rejection? Does she sleep with him? Or does she try to keep him at arm's length still? Does she act cold and reserved and bitchy, and hope he finds some other woman to occupy his thoughts?

This last idea is stupid, and Selina scoffs at herself for it. She has made it her duty to occupy his thoughts over the past year. Now she gets to deal with it the fallout. Sometimes she's a little too good for her own good, if that makes any sense.

Does she try to carry on as though nothing has changed? Perhaps whatever emergency Barsad called Bane about will distract him, allow him time to cool off. Perhaps then he will withdraw back into his shell of control and they can carry on as normal…?

So many paths before her and Selina has no idea which one is the right one.

She stares at the cloudy skies as though she might find an answer there. They provide no insight save for the a soft sigh of a breeze and a few wayward snowflakes kissing her face.


	17. Chapter 17

_Inspiration images:_

_Snowy Gotham. http://imgur.com/PReobT1  
_

_Boardroom Bane. http://imgur.com/zMgy9GS  
_

VVVVV

Selina makes herself extremely scarce around Wayne Tower in the next two weeks. She does not want to run into Bane and therefore avoids the place almost entirely save for a stolen hours of sleep here and there and some rapidly-inhaled meals. The less she is there, the less she has a chance of running into him. At least, that's the theory.

She spends her days wandering Gotham, helping those who she deems worthy and punishing the rest.

To her dismay, her circle of friends and connections in Gotham's underworld has shrunk even more than last time she took stock. The vulnerable and the fragile have all but disappeared – the homeless, the mentally ill, the whores, the street urchins. She doesn't know if they have somehow made it out, or, more likely, succumbed to the violence that now rules Gotham's streets.

She finds her way to Judith's doorstep, the old hag that she sent the forty little girls to, so long ago now. Judith is still alive – of course she is, she is a creature made of bitterness, leather and piss and will probably be around long after Selina has died. She is still a sour old biddy, but the girls – the ones that she still has with her – have softened some of her edges. Together they eke out an existence dumpster diving and bartering with other impoverished folk. It is better than the alternative for the girls.

There are only ten of them left with Judith. Some managed to find their parents after having been abducted by the Black Spades. Some ran away and were never seen again. Some have already been lost to the streets; prostitution pays better than dumpsters, and for some, is only slightly less degrading.

Selina instructs Judith to find the remaining girls a martial arts teacher – she doesn't care what kind of martial art, as long as the teacher is good. She will pay for them to learn not to be such defenceless little fawns, but rather to develop some claws and teeth.

The idea excites the little ones who are around to hear it and they surround Selina in a chattering, hug-happy group. She sternly informs them that she will be testing them herself, so they had better take their training seriously. The nods she receives are so solemn that she cannot help the grin that escapes her. Sometimes kids are cute.

The next day, she sends new coats and winter gear to the girls and Judith, as well as sacks full of canned goods and rice since their larder was looking a little depleted.

VVVVV

Selina's wounds heal at a normal rate – which is, of course, far too slow for Selina. She itches to work out and get herself back into peak condition, but the gymnasium in Wayne Tower is off-limits for now. Besides, Bane notwithstanding, she almost always has an audience there, and she doesn't want anyone watching what weaknesses she decides to work on (her shoulders still bother her; her ribs don't enjoy flexion).

So Selina descends deep into the sewers, far beyond Bane's control room, far from the thousands of policemen trapped underground. Old tunnels, forgotten ones, accessible only if you happen to be extremely acrobatic. Eventually Selina finds a large vaulted chamber where storm drains meet. A stone there was inscribed with a date by some long-dead workman: 1902. It is an old place, scattered with broken poles, pillars, unsteady catwalks, chains… a perfect playground. A secret place she will keep to herself.

As the weeks pass and Selina's injuries permit her to return to her normal levels of physical activity, she trains. She vaults, flips, balances, and spins her way through the vaulted room for hours at a time. In her line of work, physical fitness is everything – she cannot afford have a wrist give out, or have a shoulder decide that it cannot hold her weight.

And so she pushes and pushes until she is certain that her body is wholly under her command since her stint at the abattoir. Until both shoulders are in full working order and her wrists are only giving superficial tweaks during the most awkward movements. Until she can climb any wall in this place with either hand tied behind her back.

Selina takes a breather. Wipes the sweat from her forehead. Pushes an escaped strand of hair out of her face and perches herself on the top of a broken pillar in the lotus position.

Her sweat cools and she stops sucking wind quite so heavily.

And then she tastes it on her tongue; the slightest hint of menthol.

So he is watching her. It is the last time that Selina trains in her secret playground.

VVVVV

A late-February blizzard announces its arrival with copious amounts of snow. Gotham's surviving inhabitants batten down the hatches. Partly out of necessity – and partly because she likes her creature comforts – Selina retreats to Wayne Tower. There is at least still heating, plumbing, and food available there, even if it is all tainted by the threat of a run-in with Bane.

After having dumped three feet of snow on Gotham in a 48 hour period, the blizzard blows itself out and leaves a cloudless winter morning in its wake.

Selina lounges lazily in a triangle of weak winter sunlight that has formed on her bed. She ponders a profound existential question, namely whether it is worth getting up to find some breakfast, or if it would be wiser just bask in this delicious warm spot and pretend that it is summer.

Food can wait. The feel of sunlight warming eyelids has been so rare in the last few months.

Selina stretches and turns over so that her tummy can get in on this sun action. She puts her legs up against the floor-to-ceiling window, heels pressed to the cold glass. Her reverie is interrupted by a rather timid knock on her door.

No-one has ever knocked on her door here. She never has visitors.

One thing's for damn sure, it's not Bane knocking like a wuss, so at least she doesn't have to be worried on that front.

"Door's unlocked," calls Selina.

Dal pokes his head in.

"Your presence is… ah… being requested at a meeting downstairs," says Dal. He looks everywhere but at Selina's bare legs.

"Is that so?" asks Selina, rolling over to look at him. "What's this meeting about?"

"Trouble," says Dal. "Boardroom on the seventh floor. Are you coming?"

"In a minute," says Selina, stretching languidly. "I just woke up."

Dal's fingertips tap an impatient tattoo on the door. "Your presence was requested _immediately_."

Selina raises an incredulous eyebrow. She does not get ordered around.

"Who is making this request?"

"I think you can guess," says Dal. "I'm going back down. You may be late if you choose to, at your own peril."

He clicks the door shut and leaves Selina feeling rather torn. On one hand, she never comes when called, it is one of her defining features. She has this cat thing going on, after all. On the other hand… Bane.

Selina compromises by taking her time getting ready. She pulls on one of Bane's shirts and a pair of black leggings, puts her hair in a sleep-tousled ponytail, and washes up. Then she waltzes to the main floor cafeteria to grab an energy bar, which she proceeds to munch on as she enters the boardroom on the seventh floor.

The boardroom is full of Bane's higher-ranking crew, about 30 men clustered around the table in chairs and leaning against the walls. Bane himself stands at the head of the table with Barsad on his left.

The murmur of conversation dies the moment that Selina enters the room.

"Ms. Kyle. How good of you to join us."

Selina hasn't heard the voice in over a fortnight, and has quite forgotten the immediate butterflies that it triggers.

She smiles cheerily in response, munching on her energy bar, and makes her way to an empty seat at the opposite end of the table. Her walk to the chair is followed by two dozen pairs of eyes that are also taking in her bare feet, her form-fitting leggings, and the shirt that very obviously does not belong to her.

Selina reaches the empty chair and, in a single fluid movement, flips it so that its back is against the table and sits casually – if a touch provocatively – with her legs on either side of the chair's back.

She props her chin in her hands and gazes at Bane and Barsad with rapt attention.

Bane is hiding it well – as usual – but Selina knows that he is in a rather pissy mood, largely because of her irreverent behaviour. Oopsie.

Barsad looks at Bane, who gives him a small nod. Permission to speak granted – _pathetic_ – Barsad begins to describe the "trouble" that Dal alluded to this morning. There have been stories circulating for months that the CIA has infiltrated Gotham with a team of agents who are working to undermine Bane's plans. In absence of definite proof to the contrary, these stories were relegated to the status of mere rumour until very recently, when Piotr managed to intercept some radio communications between operatives in Gotham and the CIA. He was quickly detected and the communication line was shut down, but it was enough to confirm that there is an active CIA team in Gotham.

Unsurprisingly, Bane has decided that the special ops team must be exterminated. Barsad explains that the team has hidden the identities of its members extremely well; currently they appear to be completely undercover as regular citizens of Gotham. Bane would rather avoid punitive search and purge measures that could incite further rebellion, so they need to find a way to excise this threat as cleanly as possible.

A handful of the men around the table are identified to work with Piotr on increasing communications surveillance. Others are assigned to go undercover as deserters from Bane's campaign and attempt to infiltrate certain circles in Gotham where the agents might be moving. More still, a particularly lethal-looking bunch including Gorbachev, are assigned to Bane to be ready to move on a moment's notice to terminate the CIA ops the moment that they are found out.

"Lastly," says Barsad, "we have found that the CIA has set up a temporary base camp just outside the city limits. That is no doubt where they are conducting this operation from."

Barsad looks directly at Selina for the first time since she walked in. "We need to infiltrate the base camp. Find what we can – names, descriptions, lists."

Selina looks from Barsad to Bane and raises a slow eyebrow. Excuse me? She does not work for Bane, or take orders from him – and she certainly does not risk her life for him on this kind of mission.

All eyes on the room are on Selina and she knows that she cannot outright refuse, not here. Because Bane does not like losing face in front of his men, especially not to a petite barefoot thing wearing one of his shirts.

"An interesting proposition," says Selina with a swift smile. "Let's get into the details later, Barsad."

Barsad nods at her and moves on smoothly to brief other teams on their roles. But Selina sees that he has understood that she has not accepted to do this thing. And as for Bane, he looks like he is considering stomping over to her and shaking an agreement out of her. Selina beams a beautiful smile to him from across the table and turns away to focus on Barsad, as though she gives a damn what he is talking about.

The meeting ends about 45 minutes later. Selina tries to blend into the crowd of men exiting the room but is, unfortunately, spotted.

"Ms. Kyle. A word."

The crowd of men immediately shifts to create a wide gap around Selina as they leave. Apparently being singled out by Bane is akin to contracting an infectious disease.

"Of course," says Selina with all the insouciance in the world.

No further words are spoken until only Bane and Selina remain in the boardroom. Barsad hovers uncertainly at the glass door but is gestured away by Bane. He pulls the door closed behind him with a warning look at Selina.

Selina sits on the boardroom table and tilts her head at Bane.

"So… let's talk details" says Selina, as though it was totally her idea to hang out one-on-one with Bane after the meeting.

Bane hooks his hands into his vest and looks down at her, all body language that Selina now knows to interpret as _don't-fuck-with-me_. "Barsad can go over the logistics with you later."

Selina shakes her head slowly.

"Logistics, really? You're jumping the gun a bit, aren't you?"

Bane looks at her darkly, and, if Selina is honest, he does paint a very intimidating picture. Thank god he is all business right now – it seems this CIA thing has pushed their last interaction off of his radar.

"Make your meaning clear, and swiftly," says Bane.

Selina looks at him seriously. "I don't work for you, and I don't take orders from you. You know this."

Bane's face darkens further, and Selina thinks it wise to offer her alternative quickly. "I'll work with you. For a price."

"You have more audacity than all of my men combined," says Bane. He seems torn between irritation and something else. "Tell me. Does your life constitute a fair price?"

"You can't keep using threats against my life to get me to do what you want," says Selina. "It worked the first time. But it won't work again."

"But that is the beauty of bartering with lives," says Bane. "As long as the individual is still alive, I am provided with an endless fount of persuasion. It is a… renewable resource."

"I didn't know you were so environmentally conscious," says Selina drily. "But I would have hoped we could come to a more civilized agreement, this time around."

Bane contemplates her in silence.

"You know I'm good. I've proven that countless times. You know you need me, you know I can do it…" Selina gives him a coquettish smile. "Indulge me."

A long-suffering breath is pushed through the mask. "Very well, Ms. Kyle. I'll indulge you. How much?"

Selina holds back a grin. "Well, taking into account my hourly rate–"

Bane's eyebrow raises a fraction.

"... And taking into consideration the serious risk of bodily harm, the fact that I'm partially being coerced into this, the fact that basic living expenses, like sushi, are exorbitant in Gotham right now…"

Selina looks at the ceiling and taps a finger on her lip. "Half a mil."

"Absurd," says Bane.

Selina shrugs. "Alright. Get one of your guys to do it. If one of them happens to be a master thief and expert infiltrator, he doesn't have much of a rep. Or maybe you can do it yourself, except – you know – stealth isn't your forte."

"I do not _skulk_ as well as you do. Hardly something to be proud of."

"Well, you need a skulker. So."

"A hundred thousand," says Bane.

"No," says Selina. "Meet me halfway. 250 grand. But you have to put Piotr on tech, no substitutes. And I want Dal on the wheel. And I want Gorbachev on lookout. And I want you along for the ride in case things go to shit and we need to kick ass before we get out of Dodge..."

Bane looks at her long and hard. She stares back unblinkingly, her poker face solidly in place.

"I can make all of these arrangements save the last," says Bane at length. "I will not leave this city."

Selina wins, because she only wanted a quarter million in the first place, and she threw in the Bane stipulation so that he would have something to say no to. She allows no inkling of her victory to show on her face.

"Fine," she says with a slightly disappointed shrug. "But you miss out on the fun."

"I will have some of my own, once you give me names," says Bane. "I can assure you of that."

Those poor special ops guys. They have no idea what's coming. Selina makes a deliberate effort to avoid shuddering – she remembers the fear toxin, the abattoir. Bane can be one sick puppy when he wants to be.

"So when can I expect payment?"

"I shall have the funds transferred when you have completed your part to my satisfaction. You bring me names, I send the money."

Selina shakes her head. "Nope. I successfully infiltrate the base and attempt to get names. If they're too cautious, or their security or encryption is too tight and Piotr can't crack it, I can't get names. I'll nevertheless expect payment for my time and the risks taken."

Bane takes a moment to process this fresh serving of Selina's backtalk. "You enjoy negotiating, Ms. Kyle."

"It's a game of another kind," says Selina. "And I do like to play."

"Half," says Bane. "If you infiltrate successfully but for reasons outside of your control cannot obtain the names. And should you fail by your own doing… there will be repercussions."

Selina doesn't fail. She is offended that he would even suggest the possibility. But negotiating is a give and take, and if he wants to dole out a few insults to feel better about himself, she will take them. But mostly, she'll take his money.

"That's fair," says Selina. "I'll have your names by next week."

She holds out a hand for Bane to shake. "I'm glad we could come to such a civil agreement."

Bane takes her hand, fairly engulfing it in his, and squeezes just hard enough to inform Selina that he could break every bone therein if he wanted to. Selina does not pull her hand from his grasp; that is what he wants her to do, he wants her to admit that she is afraid.

Selina's right sleeve falls away from her wrist and she sees Bane's eyes linger on her still-healing wounds.

The sight appears to soften him, somehow.

"I know," says Selina, pulling her hands away. "They'll scar."

"A pity," says Bane. He reaches for her hands and pulls them towards him, inspecting the manacles of scabbing red and white tissue encircling her wrists.

Selina looks thoughtfully at the injuries. "A memento. It will remind me never to let it happen again."

Bane takes a mask-filtered breath, as though to say something else, but movement through the glass door of the boardroom catches both of their eyes. It is Barsad, trying not to look too anxious but failing hard.

Bane drops Selina's hands. "I presume you _now_ have no objection to speaking with Barsad about logistics."

"Nope," says Selina, who has been quite satisfied in that regard. "Can I talk to him about payment too?"

Bane looks ready to sigh. "You may mention it _only_ to him. You will understand, I do not often negotiate with thieves."

"And I don't negotiate with terrorists," says Selina. "But we all have to make exceptions sometimes."


	18. Chapter 18

_Inspiration image: Selina does not want to be touched. http://imgur.com/HSONWGt  
_

VVVVV

Five days later, when she has successfully – of course – obtained her list of names for Bane, Selina sends word for him to meet her on the roof of Wayne Tower.

Bane shows up punctually at midnight and Selina amuses herself by watching him wait for her. For the first few minutes, Bane paces – an unusual display of impatience for him that makes Selina realize just how badly he wants these names.

Then he stops and leans on the parapet, tapping out a slow rhythm on the concrete with his fingertips. Selina ghosts her way nearer to him, a shadow amid shadows on this moonless night.

She stands behind him for a few moments, undetected in the dark. Even under the thick shearling coat that he is wearing on this cold night, Bane's broad shoulders look tense.

From this position, Selina can see the twin painkiller cartridges nestled into the back of his mask. How quickly could she figure out how to remove those, if she needed to? She has clever hands…

Her study of Bane is interrupted when he pushes away from the parapet suddenly, probably intent on resuming his pacing. Instead, he nearly ploughs into Selina, who is saved from an ignominious tumble by her reflexes. She dances away from him in two agile steps while he registers her presence.

Bane does not like being surprised. The fingers on his right hand twitch in irritation and Selina takes a step back.

"Ms. Kyle," he says with rather more bite than usual. " _Skulking_ , of course. You have something for me?"

What, no chit chat, no preliminaries? Straight business? He _really_ wants these names.

"I do," says Selina. "Do you have something for me?"

"Barsad is waiting on my order to send the funds," says Bane. "Now, the names."

Selina toys with the idea of prolonging the exchange, of making Bane work a little to get what he so obviously wants. Of playing a game. But her last game ended badly for her, and she is not keen on repeating the experience.

The thought of being so straight up bores Selina to tears, but unfortunately it is probably the best option for her right now, if she wants to ensure her continued wellbeing.

She'll wipe her tears with the cash she earns from this job.

"You've got three active in the city," says Selina. "They've gone undercover as relief workers. Field agent John McTavish, special agent Martin Russell, and Captain Mark Jones. Alias James Williams, Roger Schmitt, and Len Parkinson. I couldn't find anything on where exactly they're holed up right now – you're on your own for that."

Bane nods once. She sees in his eyes that she will not need to repeat the names, or write them down – those men are dead.

"Photos?" asks Bane.

"I had three seconds to peek at the screen before someone came in. I know what they look like. No time to take copies, though."

This may have been more than slightly deliberate on Selina's part. But, you know, knowing their faces extends her usefulness, and hopefully by proxy her longevity.

"Were you seen?"

Selina scoffs, offended that he would even ask.

"Good," says Bane, turning his gaze to the wintery cityscape. "They will have had no warning."

"No, they won't," says Selina. "But I think you should act sooner rather than later. It sounds like they're working with a handful of police officers that avoided the sewers. Rallying."

There is scorn in the bark of laughter that exits Bane's mask. "They are welcome to rally. I will end each of their small lives…"

Bane loses himself for a long moment in what Selina suspects is a rather violent daydream. When too much time has elapsed for Selina to be comfortable, she fiddles obnoxiously with the zipper on her coat.

The sound of it brings Bane back to reality. He sighs deeply, his breath expelling loudly from the mask in a puff of warmth visible in the winter air. Now that he has the information he wanted, Selina can see that he is more relaxed – at least, as much as a control freak like Bane can relax.

He turns to her and rests a hand heavily, possessively, on her shoulder.

"You have done well, Selina. As I knew you would."

Selina tries not to look too pleased with herself. She knows she's good, but you know – it's always nice to have it confirmed by a member of the freaking League of Shadows.

Of course, she doesn't thank him for the compliment.

"I don't remember giving you permission to address me by my first name," says Selina archly.

He knew that she wasn't going to let that slip, she sees it in the amused glint in his eyes.

"I do not remember the last time I asked permission for anything," says Bane.

"But I like _Ms. Kyle_ ," says Selina with a delicate pout. "It has such an elegance to it…"

"An apt title, then," says Bane. "But Selina is... lovely. Derived from the Greek, I believe."

"Yes. Selene, the moon goddess…" Selina catches herself as she realizes how odd it is for him to be aware of that information. "But – you grew up in a prison. _How_ would you know this?"

"The days were long, and the books old," says Bane. "I would not speak of those times."

"I see," says Selina. "So… what about your name?"

"What of it?"

"It's not your real one, is it?"

"It was… earned."

"So what is your real name?"

He looks at her and his eyes are devoid of emotion, framed by the unmoving blackness of the mask. "I did not have one."

Selina doesn't really know what to say in response to this. It reminds her that Bane had a childhood that was equal parts strange and brutal, that he must have suffered vastly, that it is unsurprising that he has become this… creature obsessed with control, and punishment, and death...

"Let us go in," says Bane. "It is a cold night."

And yet sometimes, somehow, despite all of that, he manages to just be a man.

Selina turns away towards the edge of the roof, intending to leap off it and climb down to her quarters as usual. Bane's hand in the small of her back stops her.

"Walk with me," says Bane.

Selina raises an eyebrow, but complies.

"This is very civilized," says Selina as they walk towards the door to the elevator. "Shall I take your arm too?"

To Selina's surprise, he plays along with the joke and proffers his arm. She blinks and places her hand in the crook of his elbow, because to do otherwise would be to admit that contact with him is scary, and her pride, her stupid pride...

It will get her killed some day, if her tongue doesn't first.

Bane's coat is thick but she can feel the tautness of his forearm through it. Somehow, the size of it both intimidates and attracts her. Selina bites her lip pensively. It is a strange feeling, to want to get simultaneously closer to something, and as far away as possible...

They stand in silence as the elevator descends to Selina's floor. Usually when she has her hand hooked around a man's arm, she is a beautiful piece of eye candy, the centre of attention in the crowd, there to make other men (and women) jealous.

But there are no others here to witness her beauty – and at any rate, Selina just returned from her mission and is certainly not as put together as she usually is. Her hair is tied back in a French braid that is rapidly coming apart, her curves are muffled by a thick peacoat and oversized scarf, her makeup is whatever remains of yesterday's eyeliner and mascara.

Bane nevertheless confirms that she is _uncommonly beautiful_ in the lingering look he gives her, her night-bright eyes, her cold-flushed cheeks.

Bane confuses Selina further by extending his gentlemanly behaviour and walking her to her door. She would very much like to make a cynical remark on this, but she decides to roll with it – with Bane, there's always a reason.

"So," says Bane as they reach her door. "You brought me the names I sought. Yet another venture successfully completed by the Cat."

Selina tilts her head in acknowledgement and waits for him to continue – wherever he's going with this.

"You work so hard to appear so unreliable and wild, and yet..."

His hand strays to Selina's cheek, where a rogue curl has escaped her braid.

Selina twitches away from his touch. Now he's really making her nervous.

"And yet?" she prompts with a degree of impatience.

"And yet you have never failed me."

Selina takes a good step away from Bane and shakes her head. "No. I've never failed me. The fact that that has benefited you in the time we've known each other is just a – a happy collateral effect."

Bane looks like he would argue this, but lets it pass. "You have this practiced carelessness, this apathy – but you are a perfectionist. Diligent. Strong."

"What's your point?" asks Selina, intensely suspicious these unsolicited compliments.

"Why do you desire to appear so fickle? What do you gain from it?"

Selina raises an eyebrow. Because she doesn't want a team. She doesn't want to be relied on.

"I don't play well with others," says Selina. "I work for myself, and I work best that way."

"It is too bad," says Bane. He rests a hand on her shoulder for the second time that evening. He is close enough that Selina catches a whiff of wintergreen. "Banded with someone else… you could be so much more."

Selina shrugs him off and leans against the wall, which has the added benefit of moving her a touch further from Bane and his seeking hands.

"We had a conversation about this, a long time ago," says Selina. "We were on the same page back then. You said you kept me around because I could prove useful to you. And I did likewise. It was a good system."

"I remember," says Bane.

"Has something changed?" asks Selina.

Bane studies Selina closely before answering. "I know now that you are more than a skilled thief. I view you as an asset. A valuable asset. One I would like to gain."

In a way, it's refreshing to be objectified for her skills rather than her ass. Although – asset, ass. A two letter difference, and much the same outcome. Why do they always want to own her?

"You want me to work for you. Officially."

"I would ask that you consider it. The League –"

"Yeah, no," interrupts Selina. "Save your breath."

Bane does not like being interrupted. He blinks slowly, as though to quell a burst of irritation. "You do not know what you are refusing."

"Servitude," says Selina. Her blood is running a little hot. "You can wrap it up in money and power and everything you want, but that's what it'll boil down to. I'm _not interested_."

Selina sees the fingers of Bane's right hand twitch and she tenses instinctively in response. She knows that he is very unused to taking no for an answer. But Selina will give no other answer here. She will not give up her independence, not for love nor money.

Selina sees that Bane is making a very concerted effort to remain calm when he speaks again.

"You cannot see beyond the small life you have built in this rotting city. You do not see your own potential."

"I've done very well for myself in this rotting city. Until you came along and royally fucked things up."

Selina knows that her temper is flaring, and that that is always a dangerous thing. But she is _really_ all kinds of pissed off because all of her relationships with men end up with them wanting to own her somehow, and this is no different.

"I could make you a queen," says Bane.

Selina scoffs. "And I'd still answer to you. No way. I operate _alone_."

She sees that he has clenched his jaw through a slight movement in the mask. That is an interesting thing, she hasn't seen him do that before. Her outright rejection has displeased him, then. No huge surprises there…

Selina claps Bane on his broad shoulder with far more amicable bravado than she feels. "Sorry to disappoint, big boy. That's my final answer."

Bane does not move, so Selina squeezes by him and opens her door. She kicks her boots off, pulls off her coat, and unwinds her scarf from her neck. Bane is still there when she looks up, staring balefully at her.

"Well don't stand there looking so put out," says Selina, tossing her gloves aside. "You can't always get what you want. That's life."

Selina makes to shut the door, but Bane's boot stops her.

"I always get what I want," says Bane. "And I will."

Selina swears as she is pushed into the wall by Bane. He pins her there with one hand on her collarbone.

Selina laughs in his face. "This is how you deal? Throw a tantrum and push me around?"

Bane growls at her – an unnerving sound – and moves his hand higher. And there is no way Selina is letting him get a hand on her neck again. She rams two knuckles into the crook of his elbow, releasing his hold on her. Then she skips away so that the enormous executive desk that squats in the middle of her room stands between them.

Bane doesn't give her much time to regroup. Selina has always known that he is deceptively agile for such a big guy, and she gets firsthand evidence of it when he vaults over the desk towards her, using one hand as his pivot. Selina slips away from him once, twice, three times before placing the desk between them again. She needs a plan and she really doesn't have one right now, except making for the window, or making peace.

None of those are options that interest her at this particular moment. She wants to win this skirmish.

Bane taunts her. Asks her why the kitty cat is running away. Asks her if she is still so frightened of him, despite all of her brave words. Selina does not let herself get goaded into doing something stupid. Her small escapes grow more strategic: she needs her whip, which is tucked in her left boot by the door.

She cannot let him catch her. This much she knows. Because in close quarters, in hand-to-hand combat, he wins – he is too strong, too fierce, and he will break her. Bane corners her by the bathroom, but she evades his grasp and twirls away. He corners her against the window – she collapses down and rolls out of reach. He herds her back to the desk in three long strides. She leaps onto it. He expects her to jump off it and keep running – instead she pivots and nails him with a solid roundhouse to the jaw, just below his mask.

Bane shakes the blow off like it was a raindrop and follows her over the desk.

Right. This guy feels no pain.

Bane is slightly breathless now, and Selina even more so. She is also disturbed by the fact that he seems to be getting more and more excited as this chase progresses. His eyes are bright and intense, and – though he's still quite obviously pissed – he almost seems to be enjoying the game. He takes a moment to pull off his coat and then moves towards her again.

Selina leaps over his extended arms and lands close enough to her boots to snatch her whip out of them. It announces its presence by singing through the air and cracking like a gunshot inches from Bane's eyes.

Selina can see Bane's strong disdain for her meagre weapon even if his face mostly covered by the mask. But he is making a mistake in seeing it as a weapon – today it is not a weapon, it is a trap for him to walk into. Selina chose the whip because it is, like her, supremely adaptable.

Selina straightens up and faces Bane. With her whip in hand, she is no longer running scared. She is the hunter now. But he doesn't know it yet.

Bane swaggers towards her, arrogant bastard that he is, and Selina lashes the whip towards him in a relatively simple pattern that he very quickly discerns. She backs towards the desk as he advances, unfazed by the coil of leather slicing the air around him. When Selina judges that she is close enough to the desk, she aims for one of Bane's arms. He – predictably – lets the whip wrap around his thick forearm. Because it's not like it's going to hurt him anyway. Which is just what Selina wanted to see.

Before he can blink, Selina has coiled the whip around his other wrist and pulled him to his knees using his own forward momentum against him. He pulls away, but too late – Selina has wrapped the other end of the whip around the thick leg of the enormous desk, which, with its heavy black marble top, should be enough to hold him down…

Selina knocks him off of his knees with a smashing kick to the shoulder and sits on his chest for good measure.

Bane takes stock of his new situation in life – lying on his back with his wrists anchored to the leg of a desk and a cat burglar sitting primly on top of him – with an unexpected amount of humour. The surprised chortle of laughter that escapes him is so uncharacteristic that Selina almost wants to laugh too, except with the adrenaline currently surging through her system it would easily veer into hysterical laughter, which she would rather avoid.

"Well. So you caught me," says Bane. Selina feels his chest rising and lowering rapidly below her – she gave him a workout, then. It makes her proud.

"I did," says Selina. "Easy."

"And what will you do now?"

He seems to be taking his defeat rather well. A little too well.

Selina ponders his question and decides to answer honestly. "I don't know yet. You laid hands on me, and I'm pissed at you for it."

"I was – frustrated," says Bane. "You are infuriating. Did you know?"

"Oh, I know," says Selina. She leans into him with an exaggerated look of disapproval. "You _should_ be used to it by now."

She sees Bane glance at the door and it occurs to her that she probably doesn't have long before Barsad or someone begins to wonder where Bane is – surely he doesn't disappear without a word for very long.

"Another ten minutes, at the longest," says Bane, as though he read her thoughts. This annoys Selina tremendously and explains his cavalier attitude. He knows by now that she isn't going to kill him, or she already would have.

Selina drops down so that she is lying on top of him, her elbows digging unkindly into his pecs.

"A lot can happen in ten minutes," she says sweetly.

Bane seems utterly unconcerned. So Selina decides to make him concerned.

"You always get angsty when I touch the mask," says Selina. "What are you going to do now?"

Bane's gaze, which had been drifting back to the door, snaps back to Selina immediately. "Do not do anything that you will regret."

Selina bites her lip. So now she has his attention – and is that a little bit of worry she detects amidst his usual tones of command?

Selina brings a forefinger down towards the mask with ridiculous, exaggerated slowness. Bane watches it come towards him. He doesn't move a muscle – for the first ten seconds of the trajectory. Then he whips his head to the side. Selina smirks and keeps moving her hand forward.

Bane bucks below her, twisting furiously to throw her off. The desk groans and thumps as he manages to lift it a quarter inch off the ground with the violence of his pulls. Selina's whip holds fast, however, and – short of dislocating both of his shoulders – there is little Bane can do to get her off of him.

"Shh," says Selina when he has exhausted himself with the fruitless endeavor. "They're going to be wondering what we're doing up here. There will be rumours. "

Bane turns his eyes to Selina and there is anger in his gaze. And worry.

"Don't be scared," purrs Selina, settling back into position on top of him and smiling a Cheshire smile. "I promise I won't hurt you."

It is admittedly exhilarating to have Bane all to herself like this, defenseless and a little afraid of her. A predatory grin makes its way onto Selina's face. He stares daggers at her, daring her to touch him, even if he is completely at her mercy.

She dares. This time, he doesn't twitch away when her fingertips meet the metal of his mask. She traces the silvery tubes that serve as conduits for his anaesthetic with butterfly touches. They are warm to the touch. Bane tenses up crazily below her as she touches the mask, making her whip creak with the force of it. His rapid breathing fans her fingertips.

Selina's face grows serious as she passes her fingers over the back of the mask, where the twin painkiller cartridges are inserted. If she wanted to, she could pull those out right now. If she wanted to, she could pull the thing off entirely…

"I want to," says Selina, her fingers dancing at the edge of the mask by his jawline. "But I won't."

Bane searches her eyes for a lie or a trick, but finds none there. Selina is not stupid enough to do this thing, this one thing that is taboo above all else… even if curiosity gnaws at her like an insatiable hunger, sharp and painful.

Selina sees the taut cord of her whip relax slightly: her reassurance that he does not have to fear the doings of her clever fingers seems to have calmed him. She drags a fingertip playfully across the metal conduits. It is like sticking a finger into the mouth of a wolf, thrilling and foolhardy all at once.

"You're being very tame right now," says Selina.

Bane gives her a black look. "I don't believe I have much choice in the matter"

"No," says Selina. "But it's a nice change."

"Is it?" asks Bane. "It is all I was asking from you."

"What do you mean?"

"For you to be a little tamer."

"You can't have me," says Selina. "You need to understand this. I won't come when called. I won't do what I'm told. I only work for myself. When something benefits me. Why is this so hard to understand?"

"I am not... accustomed to refusal."

Selina smiles wrily. "As evinced by your earlier behaviour. I know. I was warned long ago that you always get what you want."

"That is correct."

"Mostly correct, maybe. You can't have me."

"I want you."

Selina searches his eyes and understands his meaning. He wants the Cat for her skills and Selina for everything else. She laughs merrily – he is an ambitious one. It's flattering, really.

"So does every other man I've ever dealt with. Your point?"

"I am not every other man. As you have noted previously."

"That's what I thought," says Selina. "I'm a little disappointed, actually. I thought you were different."

"Disappointed? You wield your charms with as much skill as your weapons. You have been chiseling at me for a year now," says Bane. "Witch."

Selina shrugs. "You seemed – immune to them, for a long time."

"It pains me to disappoint you so," says Bane. His tone is mocking – he is not pained at all. He doesn't give a damn that she's disappointed. He just wants her to himself.

Bane shifts below her, and Selina knows exactly what he is doing because it's something she herself likes doing. He is reminding her of their current, and quite delicious, proximity.

But she's been doing this far longer than he has.

"Cute," says Selina. "But this is how it's done."

And she shows him. The subtle rocking of the hips, the slow drag of a hand from his face down to his trousers, the heavier breaths that press her breasts onto his torso where he cannot help but feel their fullness.

Selina suspects that he was probably already rockin' a semi, since she feels him go hard in less than a minute.

"Is this what you were trying to do?" asks Selina. Her voice is low and husky, because this is, admittedly, kind of sexy.

Bane swallows visibly.

"Oh," says Selina. "Should I stop?"

Bane's eyes are dark and full of want. Selina is exceptionally glad that he is tied up as he is, because she has no doubt that she would be getting fucked senseless right now otherwise. She learned once before, long ago, that he does not like to be teased.

He is straining at his pants in a way that must be quite uncomfortable. Selina offers him no relief.

"You will always lose _this_ game," she says in his ear. "Always."

Selina looks up suddenly: a distant _ding_ reverberates down the corridor as the elevator picks up passengers from a floor somewhere below.

She looks down at Bane. "I think we're going to have company soon. Promise you'll behave and maybe I'll let you out of this… _compromising_ position before your men come looking for you."

Bane growls at her. But she has appealed to his pride and it works: he stews darkly for a moment, then nods.

"I will never work for you. I'm not yours and I never will be. Yes?"

"Yes," says Bane. His eyes are stormy, but Selina has little other choice than to trust him right now, since reinforcements are on the way.

She unties her whip and slides it out from around the desk's leg.

Selina has known for a while that Bane has his own peculiar sense of honour, and this is confirmed when he rises and doesn't immediately kill her. Nevertheless, she is relieved when he regains his feet and doesn't make for her throat.

When Dal and Barsad burst into Selina's room a minute later, Selina is perched on the desk and Bane is in the chair, looking for all the world like they were just having a quiet conversation.

"Oh, s-sorry," stutters Dal, discreetly holstering his gun.

"Thought that there was – something – nevermind," stumbles Barsad.

The two of them back out of the door in a bustle of embarrassed confusion, but Bane gestures to them to stay.

"Give them the names," he says to Selina, coolly, as though this is what they had been discussing the whole time. "Let us search for these traitors and have done with them."

Selina does so. Piotr is called up and appears a few minutes later, equipped with a laptop. He runs the names quickly.

"Beautiful," he says after a moment. "CIA registered them officially as relief workers. Even gave them nice biographies. They're at the old Chartwell building across from City Hall."

Barsad nods. "That was converted to a Red Cross shelter a few months ago."

He turns to Bane. "When?"

"Now," says Bane. He points to Selina. "She comes with us. She knows their faces."

VVVVV

And so Selina finds herself following Bane and a heavily-armed crew into the building in question. She is directed to identify the three men, but otherwise stay back – instructions which she is quite happy to comply with. Firefights are really not her thing.

Selina flits from corridor to corridor in the building, looking for men who match the photos that have been ingrained into her memory. It is 4:00 in the morning, so still dark – but relief centres like this are always busy. It takes her fifteen minutes to find the agents. Conveniently, the three of them are together, speaking with people in hushed voices at the end of a corridor.

She trots discreetly down the stairs and to the cloakroom where Bane and his men lurk.

"Two levels up," says Selina. "A black guy and two white guys. Tall. Wearing brown overcoats. They're talking to some people. An old guy who used to work at Wayne Enterprises, I think, and someone who looks a hell of a lot like the dead police commissioner."

Bane and his men surge up the stairs and Selina follows at a safe distance. All too soon, gunshots resound throughout the building, accompanied by screams and stampeding footsteps. More shots, more screams, and then – silence.

Selina peeks around a corner to see Bane approaching Captain Jones, who lies prone on the floor in a rapidly-growing puddle of his own blood.

"I'll die before I talk," spits the Captain.

Selina knows that voice, it is the breathless voice of a man whose heart is no longer beating, of a man who is already dead.

Bane knows this too. He kneels – a respectful gesture, or so Selina thinks until she sees that Bane is pressing a knee into Jones' throat. Selina bites her lip as the life is squeezed out of the man.

"I'm on your schedule, Captain," says Bane.

Cold. Cold bastard.

Jones gurgles and twitches his last. Selina feels a touch guilty. Then she remembers the 250,000 dollars sitting in her account. It only makes her feel a little better.

Gorbachev comes running. "There were people living upstairs."

"Round them up for judgement," says Bane.

Gorbachev nods.

"And hang them," says Bane, gesturing to the bodies of the fallen CIA agents, "where the world can see."

Selina slinks quietly out of the building. She fulfilled her purpose, and hopes that her absence will therefore not be noted too quickly. Because she has just made a very important decision.

Tonight she crossed some lines with Bane that she should not have crossed. She said things, he said things, things that will have changed the nature of their relationship profoundly, and not necessarily for good – at least, not from where Selina is standing.

And so Selina commits a final act of thievery. She steals herself from Bane.

She gathers a few of her things at Wayne Enterprises, then makes for the garage, where a dusty old Civic is receptive to her hotwiring attempts. And she hits the road. She feels slightly claustrophobic as she does so, because at any other time she would head straight out of the city, but with the bridges gone, she can't go anywhere except another hidey-hole in Gotham.

She avoids her usual haunts, all thirty of them, and makes instead for William Baker's house. The house is familiar to her and the neighbourhood shouldn't be too bad, or so she hopes. And Baker is conveniently dead. (He was rounded up in the trials and chose exile. An optimist.)

Dawn breaks just as Selina crests a hill that gives her a view of Gotham's Pioneer Bridge. She sees that Bane's orders were followed to the T: three bodies hang from it, mere specks at this distance.

Those men are dead because of her.

They remind her of the deer in the abattoir.

She doesn't know why she cares, but she does.


	19. Chapter 19

_Inspiration image: Selina and the Batpod. http://imgur.com/JA0GNCg  
_

VVVVV

Weeks pass and Selina does not return to Wayne Enterprises. She lies low, discreetly cleaning up a suitable radius in her new neighbourhood, earning the respect and fear of the mooks living there through means rather more violent than usual. But that is the way it has to be now.

There are rumours that Bruce Wayne has been spotted alive. Selina doesn't believe it until one night, the Batman's symbol is set alight on one of the bridges. Who knew a flaming bat could be such a hopeful thing? Perhaps she will venture out to try to find him one day, and make amends for… well, for doing what he asked and bringing him to Bane.

Or perhaps another day. Not today.

It is April and spring has arrived in earnest. Selina breathes in big appreciative breaths of it from where she sits, perched on the windowsill of the master bedroom. It's been an unusually long winter and she is glad to smell some green.

The snowmelt that accompanies winter's end is sobering. Even from this relatively low vantage point, Selina can see Gotham's true state being gradually revealed. It is a scarred, sick city, wounded badly first by Piotr's explosions and then, gradually, afflicted by rot, the gangrene of its own citizens "taking back the city" and thus its very life…

Still. It is good to see tender new leaves on trees and shy violets peeking up from underneath of unkempt hedges here and there.

A breeze gusts towards Selina and carries with it, impossibly, the smell of wintergreen.

Selina's blood runs cold the moment her brain processes the meaning of this scent.

It's him. He's here. She doesn't know how, but he's here. Near her. Where?

"You could have knocked," says Selina, addressing the comment to the night sky for lack of a visible audience.

The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as she finally hears the tell-tale breathing – right next to her ear.

Selina launches herself out of the window in a horror-fueled leap and is restrained just as quickly by hands gripping her hips with bruising force.

"You mustn't leave so soon," says the voice, the dreaded voice that sets a thousand frightened butterflies aflight in her belly. "We have so much to discuss."

Selina knows that she has gone pale. But he can't see her face if she keeps it averted, up towards the sky, and she will master the tremor in her voice. Now if only he would stop breathing down her neck like he is thinking about eating her alive…

"Do we have much to discuss?" says Selina as casually as she can. "I dunno. I guess I've been keeping busy."

"Ah," says Bane. "Tending to your garden?"

"My garden…?" repeats Selina, confused, because the sprawling green yard in front of her is anything but well-tended… but as the words come out of her mouth she remembers that long-ago conversation that he is making reference to. Gotham is her garden.

Selina smiles, but the smile is bitter. "It's nothing but a wasteland, thanks to you."

She squirms a little, hating how Bane is using her hips as handles to keep her in place, hating that he could probably dislocate her pelvis right now if the fancy struck him…

He lifts her and turns her so that she is facing him, with her back to the two-storey drop. She could backflip out, if he'd let her go for a split second… but of course, he knows that, and does not let go.

Selina meets Bane's eyes for the first time since the incident. Her gaze is brazen and defiant and full of fire, because she will not show him that she is afraid. He towers over her but she does not shrink at his height (oh god was he always this huge) or his hard, unreadable eyes, or the black maw of that god-forsaken mask come back to haunt her with its whiff of medicinal mint…

"So what did you come here for?" prompts Selina before the silence between them grows too tense.

"You have made yourself difficult to find," says Bane. There is reproach in his voice. "Were you trying to hide from me?"

"Maybe I needed a break from the sausage-fest at Wayne Enterprises," says Selina.

"Indeed? If that is the case, it seems... discourteous to disappear without a word of thanks to your host, who has kept you fed, and warm, and safe, for many months in a dangerous city," says Bane.

"The city is only dangerous because of you," says Selina. "Did you come all the way here to lecture me on my manners?"

"No," says Bane. "Because I don't believe you left for that absurd reason. I believe that you were running from me."

Selina bristles, both because he is accusing her of being frightened, and because it is actually true.

"Don't flatter yourself," says Selina.

Her irreverence is rewarded by the tightening of his grip on her hips. Selina looks down at his hands. "Are you going to manhandle me for the duration of this conversation?"

"I seem to recall you doing the same to me during in our last… encounter," says Bane.

"True," says Selina. "But only because you were ready to coerce me into working with you. Physically. I needed to make sure you were going to _listen_."

Bane gives her a hard look, which Selina returns unflinchingly.

"I am going to shut this window," says Bane. "And you, _Ms. Kyle_ , are going to seat yourself on the bed. Do otherwise, and there will be more _coercing_. You understand?"

Selina purses her lips and nods once. Nothing like detailed instructions to put her in a pissy mood.

Bane keeps one hand on her waist and uses the other to slide the window shut with a snap. He slides the lock shut for good measure – as if that would slow her down. Whatever buys him a sense of security…

Selina saunters to the bed and sits cross-legged on it. "Happy?"

"No," says Bane. "But that will do for now."

"Good. Great. Wonderful. So cut to the chase. Why are you here?"

Bane contemplates her for an uncomfortably long period of time. The only sound is his calm amplified breathing, in and out, in and out. A part of Selina feels slightly self-conscious because she is scruffy right now, and she always cares about physical appearances. But it's 2:00 a.m. and she was sleeping until an hour ago, so whatever. If he can't deal with her wild hair and her sleeping attire (one of Baker's silk dress shirts) then he can go find another thief to harass.

Finally, having presumably had his fill of Selina's bare legs and tumbled hair, Bane turns to the window and looks outside, hands hooked into his vest.

"Many months ago, I told you that this chaos is a temporary inconvenience," says Bane.

"I remember," says Selina. "I have been _quite_ inconvenienced by it, in fact."

She hears something that could have been a chuckle. But nothing about this is funny. Not to Selina.

"I also remember you saying that you were going to restore order," says Selina. "When does that happen?"

"Very soon, actually," says Bane, turning to her. "It is a matter of days now. That is why I am here."

"A matter of days…?"

Selina is silent as she processes this new information. How does one restore order so suddenly, so precisely?

The answer hits her all of a sudden, all the more violently because it's been staring her in the face, and Gotham in the face, for months.

"The bomb," breathes Selina, her hand flying to her mouth.

Oh shit. Bane's idea of restoring order is to annihilate Gotham. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"But – but what about this whole revolution thing? I thought the bomb was just a way for you to make sure that the military didn't intervene, and people didn't try to cross the bridge?"

Bane looks at her with pity, and in a way she deserves it, because she has been unbelievably naive.

That doesn't make the idea any easier to grasp. Selina tries to keep her eyes in her head as she stares at him, struggling to parse the enormity of his lie.

"So… so your whole revolution here, it's just a fiction?"

"Yes," says Bane. "As you have seen, chaos leads only to deprivation. I gave the people freedom, and they made a – what did you call it? A wasteland. We share the same opinion on order, you and I."

"No," says Selina, standing now, and agitated. "Don't you dare try to draw parallels between us…"

"Sit," says Bane.

Selina clenches her jaw but resumes her seat on the bed. "But what about the people. You keep talking about the people. You've been acting for the people the whole time – I thought. It's a lie? You've given them a – a myth of opportunity and they're all going to die?"

Bane inclines his head yes. "Unfortunate. But the people are part of the problem, and must be excised."

Selina feels as though she is talking to a madman who does not realize the scope of his own insane ambitions. But Bane is sane.

"Do your followers know? That your whole revolutionary, liberator schtick is just a mask? Barsad? Piotr? Gorbachev?..."

"They know that I am the League of Shadows. That is enough."

Selina shakes her head, temporarily speechless for once in her life.

"... How can they be okay with this? How can anyone think this is okay?"

Bane seats himself on the edge of the bed. He is incredibly calm, which Selina has come to learn means Very Bad Things.

"You have told me before that there is nothing left for you here," says Bane. "Now you say that Gotham is nothing but a wasteland. What objection can you have, truly?"

"Objection?!" spits Selina. "You want to murder 12 million people. Holy shit…"

Bane looks at her with eyes full of sorrowful judgement. "I will wipe out the evil of corruption."

Selina shakes her head in disbelief. "You know, I – I thought you were some kind of monster or robot or something for a long time. Then when I felt your breath on me for the first time, and it was warm, I thought, oh wow, he's human after all–"

Bane's eyes smile at her. "What a lovely thought."

"– but now I know I was wrong. Utterly wrong." Selina cannot keep her horrified eyes off of him, as though by looking hard enough she could somehow convince herself that she has misunderstood him.

"I thought you were just a zealot running kind of misguided crusade. But you're going to single-handedly impose a cataclysm."

"Yes," says Bane cheerfully.

Selina stares, open-mouthed.

"...Do you intend to die here too?" asks Selina finally.

Bane looks away and does not answer.

Selina takes a deep breath and looks out the window, where Gotham's ravaged skyline twinkles a few sad lights at her.

Selina realizes that she has seen hell. She is looking at it now. Gotham has become a city of the damned.

"Jesus Christ," says Selina. " _How_ can you think this is okay? Does the anaesthetic numb your humanity too?"

Bane huffs at her through the mask. Apparently, it is a good joke. "There is no drug for that pain. Unfortunately."

Selina shakes her head. This is way too much for her to process right now. Bane is sick. The League of Shadows is sick.

They sit in silence. Selina sits next to the devil incarnate and wonders how to kill him.

Bane looks at her. "Can you understand the impulse to – cull – certain segments of the population?"

"Like you?" asks Selina waspishly.

Bane gives her a look.

"No, I can't understand that impulse," says Selina. "You're initiating another holocaust."

She does not like the triumphant glint that lights his eyes.

"Liar. You have yourself done some culling, although on a smaller scale."

"Excuse me?" says Selina.

"Yes. Most of your adult life, in fact. You have slayed pedophiles, rapists, murderers, abusers, countless others for various perversions that disagree with you…"

Selina takes a breath to respond, but Bane interrupts her.

"The Black Spades, more recently," says Bane. "How many men was it, in the end? Thirty? Forty?"

"That's _different_ ," says Selina. "You can't draw a parallel – the scales are completely different. You're going to initiate a wholesale slaughter of an entire city. You're going to kill those who aren't guilty as well as those who are."

"Ah," says Bane. "Like those two teenagers you killed, the night you first attacked the Spades. They were there only because they were coerced by their father, who was going to beat their mother if they did not comply. She lost her husband and both of her sons that night."

Though this is new information to her, Selina does not let it derail her. "Collateral damage, and I'm sorry for it. But if my collateral damage is a handful of lives, yours is millions. You're not going to convince me that these are comparable figures."

"Not comparable figures, no," says Bane. "But I wanted you to understand that they are comparable _impulses_. Impulses for _bettering_. Whether you will admit it or not, you now see that."

Selina is silent.

"The League works on a bigger scale. There you are correct. Because you were working for the good of a city, one city. The League works for the good of the world. So the numbers will far more vast, yes. And the positive repercussions will be enormous, and far more beneficial for humankind than a single cat burglar's attempts to clean the streets."

"You will not convince me that it's okay to kill 12 million people," says Selina. "You won't. It's obvious that you've convinced yourself, though. Good for you. And stop looking at me like I've disappointed you. I'm not here to please you."

"No," says Bane. "I believe I realized that a long time ago."

They sit in silence. Selina stews in an unpleasant mixture of worry and fear and guilt, and questions, thousands of questions – chief of which is, how the hell does she stop this from happening?

"So why are you here tonight?" asks Selina eventually, though she has a vague sense of the answer already.

"There is a way out of the city," says Bane. He looks like he wants to reach out and touch her, but Selina flinches away, and his hand moves to his knee instead. "I would have you know of it."

"You think I'm going to run?"

"It has been your modus operandi most of your life," says Bane. "You flee from your problems. You flee from the things you fear."

He doesn't say it, but Selina hears it anyway – _you flee from me_. He has a point, but Selina is not about to concede it. She glares at him.

"What's the alternative? You're going to die with your city?" asks Bane. "A noble thought. But you are not noble. We know this."

"I'm going to find a way to stop you," says Selina with far more defiant bravado than she actually feels.

Bane vexes her by barking out a laugh, garbled through the mask. "There are many, many already at work trying to stop me. With far more resources and power than you, my dear."

Selina clenches her jaw and looks away.

"Even if you were to kill me now – which you could not do, but let us entertain the possibility – the bomb goes off. There is no-one alive who knows how to disarm it."

He lays a patronizing hand on her shoulder. "It is fate. It is this city's destiny."

Selina wants to hiss at him for touching her. She shrugs off his hand angrily.

"So what's the way out?" asks Selina in spite of herself, part self-preservation, part desperate planning…

"Oh, I am not going to tell you right away. You would send half of Gotham out before the day is through. No. You will come and find me when you are ready to leave. When your – laudable – noble impulses give way to your more pragmatic nature. Two days from now, come and find me. The old City Hall. After that, I can no longer help you."

Bane's rise from the bed is accompanied by a mask-muffled grunt. It startles Selina – never in the time she has known him has she ever seen him to be weary. Perhaps a year of war takes its toll, after all.

"I hope that you will make the right decision," says Bane.

"I will," says Selina.

Hell if she knows what the right decision is.

Bane gives her a long, burning glance, then leaves. Selina spies him getting picked up by an Escalade at the end of the driveway. She shudders – how long has he known that she's been in this house, how long has she been under surveillance?

It's time to move.

VVVVV

A night and a day do not bring further clarity to Selina. She manages to find a few members of Gotham's police force that did not get caught underground, and informs them of Bane's intentions. They are already well aware of them – Lucius Fox, that old guy from Wayne Enterprises, figured it out a while ago. Apparently everyone has been working to identify the bomb's exact location in one of the three identical trucks patrol the city, and everyone is trying to find a way to stop it.

Oh, okay, so it's all under control. So maybe Selina doesn't need to get involved after all. Because Bane was right, she is not noble. She is motivated by self-interest alone – mostly. She works only for herself and now she can save only herself.

But part of herself is this city… how can she just let it burn? She hates Gotham, but she loves it, too. It made her what she is, with all the good and bad that came with it.

It takes an unexpected outside force to solidify her resolve. She runs into Bruce Wayne on a cloudy spring afternoon, the day before the bomb is scheduled to go off.

Bruce catches her rescuing a little apple thief from two goons and proceeds to annoy her thoroughly by convincing her, somehow, that she has good in her, that she can help people. Lots of people. She can blast a passage through one of the blocked-up tunnels that goes to the mainland and create an escape route.

Mostly, Selina is convinced because Bruce offers to lend her a new toy to play with, his very fancy motorcycle that she has attempted to steal unsuccessfully before.

Selina gets suited up and meets him late that night.

"To start it, you –" begins Bruce.

The motor roars to life under Selina's hands.

"I got it," she says, a tad unnecessarily.

"We've got forty-five minutes to save this city," says Bruce.

"No," corrects Selina. "I've got forty-five minutes to get clear of the blast radius, because you don't stand a chance against these guys."

"With your help, I might," says Bruce.

Selina shakes her head. She isn't a hero. She's out to save her own ass. "I'll open that tunnel, then I'm gone."

"There's more to you than that."

Stupid man. Endearingly good-hearted, though. "Sorry to keep letting you down."

Wayne looks at her in silence.

"Why don't you come with me?" asks Selina. "You don't owe these people any more. You've given them everything."

"Not everything. Not yet."

And therein lies the fundamental difference between the two of them. It is a gap that is too wide to bridge with words, and besides, they have too little time.

Selina shakes her head and takes off.

It takes her fifteen minutes to navigate to the outskirts of Gotham, to the tunnel whose entrance is piled thirty-deep with cars. Selina examines the small dial on the console that controls the guns on the Batpod. There are a handful of settings, ranging from the relatively weak 'concussive blast' to 'obliterate'.

She chooses the latter. Obviously.

 _Boom_.

The cars shatter and melt as though they are made of glass and cobwebs. When the dust settles, there is a twenty-foot hole blasted through the barricade. Enough for hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of Gothamites to pour out of, to flee as fast as they can on their weak little legs. Selina is grateful that she has the bike; she's going to be able to put some serious distance between herself and Gotham before the city is blown to dust.

Selina rolls to the entrance of the tunnel. Freedom before her, and Gotham behind.

All she needs to do is hit the throttle and she's gone. And all of this mess is far, far behind her.

She stares into the dark tunnel and lets out a long, long sigh.

God, when did she become such a bleeding-hearted idiot.

VVVVV

Selina skids the Batpod into City Hall at the exact moment that Bane wedges a shotgun under Bruce Wayne's chin.

Not today, big boy. Selina sets her sights on Bane and pulls the trigger on the Batpod's cannon.

'Concussive blast' hits a little harder than she thought it would. Oops.

Bruce blinks up at her.

"About that whole no guns thing," says Selina, "I'm not sure I feel as strongly about it as you do."

Bruce pulls himself to his feet and moves towards Bane, who has settled in an untidy pile in a distant doorway.

"No time for that," calls Selina. "Gordon knows which truck the bomb is in. You need to take your flying saucer and get out there!"

She sees Bruce's hesitation and understands it completely, that desire to make sure that Bane is dead, and probably finish the job himself… but the good of the many outweighs the pleasure of the few, for Bruce at least, and he veers around and disappears outside.

A moment later, Selina sees the Bat tearing across the sky, off to do what he can for this city. He's a good person, Bruce Wayne. A good person.

And Selina?

Not so much. She looks at Bane's motionless form and bites her lip.

In her defense, he did tell her to come and find him at City Hall. He didn't specify that he didn't want to be shot.

She moves the bike ahead slowly. Bane's eyes are open when she draws level with him. His mask is badly damaged and his gaze is filled with pain.

"I couldn't let you kill him, sorry," says Selina in the least apologetic tone possible. "He's going to save my city."

She disembarks from the bike with a graceful swing of her leg. "And I couldn't let him kill you. You still owe me money."

Bane is conscious, but fading. Selina smacks him lightly on both sides of the face.

"Hey. Hey, big boy. I need to know two things before you faint like a sissy."

It's so stupid that it works, but it does – even near death, people will have their egos… Bane's gaze focuses on her and there is a serious dose of irritation masked under layers of pain.

"One, where is your closest stash of painkillers?"

Bane takes a moment to process the question, then points his failing gaze to a red box on a distant wall, the kind that holds a coiled-up fire hose in public buildings. "Compartment… behind…"

"Good," says Selina. "Two, where is the exit route?"

Bane glares at her.

"What?" says Selina. She squats down next to him, irritated that she even has to explain this. "I already cleared myself a tunnel, and I can clear fifteen more if I want to. I can get out of here, easy. But I can't get out of here unnoticed carrying something like you quite so easily. You want to get out of here? Tell me where it is."

Her logic apparently makes sense to him. Bane takes a deep breath, sucking in the small anaesthetic available through the few undamaged tubes of his mask. "Wayne Enterprises garage… false fire exit, third level below ground… a passage…"

And then Bane faints like a girl.

Selina quickly divests the fire hose box of its precious stash of cartridges and then tackles the immensely pleasant (hint: it's not) exercise of hoisting Bane's overlarge body onto the bike. It also occurs to her that she should smash any tracking device on this thing – she finds two, and bashes them off mercilessly. Bruce can buy himself another bike.

And so Selina undertakes the greatest heist of her life, stealing a mass-murdering criminal mastermind from under the nose of the CIA, the U.S. military, and the 12 million citizens of Gotham who very rightly want him dead.

What can she say, she's a thief. And if he's that precious to all of those people, he's going to be even more precious to the League of Shadows, and that's where things are going to get interesting.


	20. Chapter 20

Bane is barely conscious enough to hold onto Selina as she powers them downtown, through the curving passage underneath of Wayne Enterprises, and all the way out into the countryside.

Suddenly, there is a blinding flash in the bay, and it feels like all of the air gets vacuumed out of the world. Selina skids the bike to a halt and watches breathlessly as an enormous mushroom cloud bursts into existence above the ocean.

She knows that this can only mean one thing. That Bruce went and heaved the reactor's steaming core out over the bay in his stupid flying saucer, and saved Gotham, and killed himself in the process.

A moment later, a host of aircraft and helicopters descend on Gotham and Selina can almost see the city sigh with relief.

Bane's head slips heavily onto her shoulder and Selina bops it back up unkindly. "Bruce Wayne is dead now. Because of you. Asshole."

Bane gurgles something senseless in response. Selina slips her goggles back on and forges on down the road. There will be time for thinking of her confused feelings later. For now, she needs to find a place to hide.

She knows she won't hide from the League for long, but it's not them she's hiding from. It's everybody else.

VVVVV

Nighttime finds Selina and Bane holed up in the hayloft of an abandoned barn. The bike sits below them, camouflaged by old farm equipment and half-rotted bales of hay. With any luck, Gotham is focusing its search for Bane within the city itself, perhaps in the sewers that were so well known to him, or perhaps they are looking for his body in the piles of corpses that began to build up in Gotham's streets in the final hours before the explosion…

Selina eyes Bane's damaged mask uncertainly in the penumbra of the hayloft. She does not know enough to risk damaging it further by attempting a fix, but at least she trusts herself to change the near-empty cartridges of anaesthetic, because Bane is making rather alarming groans and he probably needs a fresh dose.

"There," says Selina when this exercise is completed. "And now I'm done playing nurse, so you can get better or die here, up to you."

Bane does not answer, but sinks into something that looks like sleep or unconsciousness, she isn't sure which.

Selina explores the place. There is a sketchy old pump around the back of the barn, but the water smells alright to Selina, so she takes a long drink of it and takes a bucketful to the hayloft. (The bucket is old and full of holes and probably tetanus, but who has time to be picky?)

Selina hasn't eaten in two days – stress, nerves, and guilt all contributed to that. But Selina feels a crash coming soon, now that the last of her adrenaline is fluttering out of her system.

For food she must go further, though she does not like the idea of leaving Bane alone. There is a farmhouse two fields away. Selina waits, patient as a cat, for the lights to go out, and for the inhabitants (an elderly couple, half-dead and half-deaf) to fall asleep. Then she breaks in and helps herself to food from their cold storage room, skimming strategically from heaping piles of root vegetables and stacks of jam jars so that her thefts will go unnoticed. She also steals some clothing from storage bins stacked in the corner – a girl lived here once, long ago, and Selina is happy to put her old jeans and shirts back into use. (Selina's catsuit is immeasurably useful, but rather conspicuous in daylight…)

Bane is awake when she returns to the hayloft with her miscellany of items. Selina hovers uncertainly at the ladder for a moment when their eyes meet, because there is anguish in his. Then she remembers that he can barely move, and thus cannot hurt her, and she scrambles up all the way.

"Good to see you haven't died yet," says Selina conversationally, dumping the stuff into a corner.

Bane is silent. Selina makes a few attempts at conversation – informing him that his annihilation of Gotham has failed, that they're holing up in this barn until he is well enough to move again, that there's carrots for dinner – but Bane is unresponsive. Selina does not know if it is a result of his injuries, the extent of which she is uncertain, or unspeakable disappointment, or rage, or some combination of the three, but it makes her uneasy and she decides to keep her distance until he snaps out of it.

She grabs a zucchini and some jam – a weird combination but fresh, cold, and delicious, and so much better than goddamned field rations – and climbs onto the barn's roof.

A big old barn cat joins Selina there, and they sit, two silent silhouettes surveying the moonlit landscape together.

All is quiet. On the horizon, Gotham is bright with more lights than it has seen in many, many months. Tiny bright dots circle it like fireflies, aircraft bringing in supplies, medical aid, and relief to a starving populace.

And beyond Gotham, a pitch-black line hints at the ocean, where a brave man died today, giving up his life for that of 12 million others.

It makes Selina wish she cried more easily; it seems that it would be a relief to give way to sobs of gratitude and sorrow for the man that saved her city. But tears do not come, so instead she whispers a quiet thank you to Bruce Wayne from the deepest, most secret, most honest recesses of her heart.

The cat abandons her to pursue important cat-things, as cats are wont to do, and Selina passes the night in a pensive reverie.

VVVVV

When Selina clambers back into the hayloft the next morning, feeling rather more creaky than usual, she finds Bane sound asleep, stretched out on an old tarp.

She is surprised to see that the bucket of water is almost empty. However, her supplies of food are untouched.

Perhaps he doesn't have teeth and can't eat carrots without grinding them up first. Selina wrinkles her nose at the thought and turns her attention to Bane. Though he is sleeping, his face – or what she can see of it – is drawn and very pale. His head rests on the leather pouch containing the anaesthetic cartridges that Selina rescued from City Hall. It occurs to Selina that those are all he has left, now. Enough for, what? Weeks? Months? She understands why he is keeping them close.

A long, boring day passes, during which Selina does not dare move outside much. Military aircraft occasionally roar overhead, going either to Gotham or from it, or perhaps searching desperately for the masked man who created this chaos...

Selina joins Bane on his tarp in a day of on-and-off dozing. His breathing is regular but sounds laboured, more so than usual, and Selina suspects that he may have a broken rib or two, and perhaps other internal injuries courtesy of the Batpod's concussive blast. But Selina is no medic, and even if she was, there isn't much she could do to help with a few rusty farm implements and old hay.

She and Bane share a nocturnal tendency; dusk finds them both alert and waiting for the welcome cover of darkness.

Selina goes off to hunt again, this time at the farmhouse across the way, and returns bearing canned goods (mm, cold canned ravioli), fruit, and a half-used bar of soap.

"Because," she explains to Bane with respect to the latter item, "you stink. And so do I, probably."

Bane is unresponsive, so Selina decides to get rid of her stink, at least. It is spring and the night air still has a definite chill to it, so the pump makes for a cold, cold midnight bath. Selina is quick about it, taking what her mother used to call a whore's bath: pits, tits, and naughty bits. The pain of the icy water on her skin is worth the clean feeling afterwards, even if she almost chips her teeth from clenching her jaw so hard.

Ten minutes later, Selina climbs back up the ladder to the hayloft, shivering like a drowned kitten. Bane is not on the tarp when she reaches the top, which gives her pause.

She peers into the darkness and sees him in the far corner of the loft, kneeling next to the bucket of water. Selina wonders if he's about to be sick – then she sees the pale blur of his hands reaching up towards the back of his head. Selina curses silently: her night-vision goggles are below, hooked onto the handlebars of the Batpod. She strains her eyes, but Bane is surrounded by shadow, and he does not turn around.

He splashes water onto his face, swiftly, then rinses out the mask itself. Selina sees him fiddle with the mask for a long minute – then he falls forward onto one hand, clutching the mask to his chest. There is urgency and desperation in the way he pushes himself back onto his knees, then pulls the mask over his head with shaking hands. His groan of relief is audible even where Selina stands.

Selina clears her throat loudly. Bane sits down heavily without turning around, as though his most recent exertions have absolutely drained him.

She hears his breathing echo through the hayloft – tired breaths, frightened breaths.

"I need you," says Bane in a hoarse voice.

It is the first he has spoken to her since they left Gotham. His entire demeanor is so exhausted, and so vulnerable, that her cynical comment dies on her lips. Selina moves toward him and looks at him questioningly.

"The conduits," says Bane with a gesture to the tubes lining his mask. "Fix. Cannot remove the mask for long enough to... do it myself."

"But I don't –"

Bane grabs one of her hands and pulls her towards him. His eyes, or what she can see of them in the dark, are filled with pain. "Please."

Selina purses her lips and asks him if she looks like Florence Nightingale to him. But he is quite clearly in a lot of pain, and he actually won't be much good to her dead, and it does weird things to her to have him _begging_ her… so Selina kneels in front of him and tentatively touches the silvery conduits, taking stock of the damage.

"So uh – you've got four tube-thingies intact, two that look – salvageable, I think, and two that are basically torn off…"

Bane grunts in response. He looks about ready to pass out again. Selina frowns and gets to work as best she can. The two salvageable tubes straighten relatively easily but resist her attempts to realign them with their fellows below. Selina creeps closer to Bane and whispers some unladylike things when the tubes refuse to cooperate. The smell of his drug is strong, filtered directly out of the broken conduits into her face. She tries not to breathe too deeply – this stuff is definitely potent enough to make her light-headed if she's not careful.

Selina manages to hook one tube up properly and the effect on Bane is almost immediate; he inhales profoundly and sighs a deep, relieved sigh. There is warm gratitude in his gaze when he looks at her, which, for some reason, unnerves Selina far more than his usual black looks.

Of course, the other conduit proves to be a slippery little bitch, deformed just enough that it won't line up with its matching hole. Selina invites herself onto Bane's lap and pulls his mask in close, lapsing into the deep, almost trancelike state that she slips into when working on locks. A nudge here, a touch there, a push there… too far, start again from the beginning… nudge, push, twist, pray, push again…

Bane leans back slowly to rest against the wall of the loft and Selina follows the movement, grounding herself on the floor with a knee on either side of his hips. Somewhere, subconsciously, she is aware that he is watching her face as she works, her concentrated looks, her small frowns, the frustrated biting of her lip...

It is so strange that, the last time she was this close to him, she had him bound up in her whip and convulsing below her to avoid her touching his mask. And now he is begging for it, needing it desperately, beaming his gratefulness out at her like an anxious dog, and trusting her utterly...

He _trusts_ her. This big domineering paranoid control freak trusts her.

Weird, but flattering. But weird.

There is a soft click and the troublesome conduit finally snaps into its twin on the bottom row. Selina and Bane share a relieved, menthol-scented sigh.

Bane stares at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, breathing deeply and apparently enjoying some much-needed relief.

"That bad, huh?" asks Selina, pushing herself off him.

Bane nods slowly, then slides himself carefully onto his back. "I must rest."

Selina gets up, dusts herself off, then drags over the old tarp. She lies down next to Bane and pulls the tarp over the two of them. Not out of concern for Bane's comfort, mind – the very thought is absurd – but rather for hers. She is still slightly chilled from her bath, and Bane is deliciously warm.

Of course, that might be a fever...

As she drifts to sleep, Selina reflects that Florence Nightingale probably wouldn't have taken advantage of a fevered man's body heat.

Her loss.

VVVVV

The dawn is heralded by a spring shower that turns into a steady downpour promising to last throughout the day. Of course, the barn's roof is anything but watertight. Selina snarls as rogue drips of cold water discover her skin in irregular intervals.

Fine. That does it. She's making a fort.

Selina hooks the sides of the tarp on two rusty nails, weighs down one end of it with a brick, and voilà – she has created a very stylish lean-to. A bit saggy in the middle, perhaps, but who's going to complain? Bane? She'll smack him.

The man in question appears to be sleeping deeply, completely unaware of the world.

Selina decides that breakfast is the next order of the day on this miserable morning. She pries open some tins with a knife. As she scarfs down canned peaches (oh my god so good), it occurs to her that Bane hasn't eaten at all, which probably isn't very healthy.

As if on cue, his stomach growls loudly and unexpectedly. It startles Selina and pulls Bane out of sleep.

He cracks open an eye and stares blearily at Selina.

"Good morning, sunshine," says Selina, grinning widely because Bane really looks nothing like sunshine right now. He does look way better than he did yesterday, though – the additional analgesic gas from the two broken tubes really made a difference.

He stretches with a pained groan – an uncharacteristically human behaviour, for him – and pulls himself into a seated position. He studies the tarp newly stretched above their heads with passing interest, then focuses on the cans scattered around Selina.

"Beans?" offers Selina. "Tuna? Ravioli? Tuna?"

"Whatever does not need chewing," says Bane, pulling ravioli and creamed corn towards him.

Selina's mouth stays open for a half-second. "No chewing…? Why? Do you not have – um – teeth?"

Bane gives her a dark look (so much more comfortable for her than the previous night's glow of gratitude). "I do have teeth, _Ms. Kyle_. I can ingest food more rapidly without chewing, however… given that I cannot be without my mask for any length of time without –"

He does not finish the sentence, choosing to make a show of opening a can instead.

"Without what?" prompts Selina.

"Without my usual – implements."

"It's the syringes, isn't it?" says Selina around a mouthful of peach. "That's what they're for. Makes sense. You didn't strike me as a junkie."

"A direct injection offers… some respite from the pain when the mask is off," says Bane. "There. Your curiosity is satisfied on that front. Brat."

He gestures Selina away to eat in privacy, and Selina complies, just because Bane is far more interesting when he is in a better mood.

Of course, she does try to peek under the tarp a moment later, when she hears him sucking cans clean like nobody's business, but he is (wisely) facing the wall. So he trusts her to touch his stupid mask but not to control her curiosity. Pfft.

The back of his shaven head looks normal. An exciting development. Also, he has ears.

Selina tiptoes off and sits on a dry triangle of floor that has somehow avoided drips of rain.

VVVVV

The rain does not let up. And so Selina and Bane lie under the tarp and argue to pass the time.

"You failed," says Selina. "You underestimated Gotham, what its people would do to save it."

"I underestimated one man," says Bane. "One man."

Selina looks innocently at the tarp above, since he seems to have forgotten her role in that particular affair.

"And one woman, yes," says Bane slowly, and with a dark look at her. "I do not remember much, but I remember that."

"He was Gotham's only chance," says Selina. "I wasn't about to let you blow his head off."

The fingers of Bane's braced-up right hand dig into the weathered barn boards. Selina flinches at the sudden movement in spite of herself.

"We were so close," he growls. "So close to lancing this corrupted boil of a city, and now it stands, and will thrive again, because you couldn't let me pull a trigger."

"I'd do it again in five minutes," says Selina seriously.

Bane looks expressionlessly at the tarp.

"This is – what, the second time the League has tried to obliterate Gotham?"

"The third," says Bane. He sounds weary. "There was a first attempt… almost two hundred years ago."

Selina raises her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Two hundred years – you mean... the 1822 fire? Wow. The League really has it in for Gotham."

"By all accounts, it was a cesspool even then," says Bane.

Selina picks absently at a sprig of hay. "So... maybe the now League sees that the third time is not the charm. Maybe they just fuck off and leave Gotham to its own devices. If it is as corrupt as you say, it'll kill itself from the inside out eventually, anyway."

There is a long silence.

"You know so very little," says Bane.

"Maybe," says Selina. "But I know when to quit. Which is more than the League does."

A helicopter flies past overhead and Selina and Bane still instinctively. Selina does not like the feeling. Stilling is what prey does. Bane watches the helicopter's lights pass overhead between the gaps in the roof of the barn.

"I do not know what you intended to do with me," says Bane, "but my men will find me soon."

Selina props herself up on her elbows and looks at him with interest. "Will they now? … What men? While you were busy fainting like a sissy, the police force overwhelmed your lines. Three thousand strong, and pretty damn pissed off. By now, your men all captured – or worse."

Bane discounts her words with a dismissive gesture. He doesn't believe her.

"I saw Barsad die," says Selina slowly. "Shot in the head. He won't be coming for you, not in this lifetime."

This surprises him. There is silence, and Bane's eyes are veiled.

"Did you care about him?" asks Selina in lieu of condolences when the silence grows too long.

"He was... a good soldier," says Bane at length. "Faithful to me to the last."

This doesn't really answer the question, but Selina doesn't push it. She rolls over so that she too is facing the tarp.

"He was stupidly loyal," says Selina. "He'll be waiting for you on the other side. Wherever that is."

"Hell," says Bane. "One would presume."

"You think so?"

He hesitates. "... I do not know."

Outside, the wind picks up and the rain is driven sideways against the barn in cold, wet sheets.

Bane does not speak and Selina wonders if he is actually upset that Barsad is dead, and his dream team is no more… or if he is simply disappointed by their defeat, and angry that they failed.

Bane's eyes are bright in the penumbra and Selina suspects that it might be the former.

He catches her looking at him. "What is it?"

Selina tilts her head, contemplating him. "I was just thinking. You've lost... everything."

He looks back at her with an unreadable expression. "You are mistaken. Almost everything. That which I most expected to lose is still here, for reasons known only to herself."

"I'm not yours to lose," says Selina.

"Why did you save me?" asks Bane.

Selina laughs, though it rings kind of hollow. "Save you?"

"What do you call it?"

"Helping myself to a fat paycheque," says Selina in her most deadpan tone.

Bane looks at her with renewed interest. "Is that so? And what exactly do you intend to do with me?"

"Have my way with you, then sell what remains of you to the highest bidder," says Selina drily.

"A good way to die," says Bane. "Answer the question."

"I don't need to answer anything," says Selina with a smirk. "You're a hell of a lot less intimidating when you can barely stand."

Bane narrows his eyes at her. He does not like to be reminded of his weakness. Too bad. Selina presses a finger in the middle of his forehead.

"Boop," she says.

Selina is certain that, if he has any, his nostrils have flared in annoyance.

"Sorry," laughs Selina. "I always wanted to do that."

A glare is his only response. Selina pushes herself up to a seated position.

"Seriously, though," says Selina, hugging her knees to herself. "You're probably the most valuable thing I ever stole. More than the Compton necklace, more than the diamonds from the Parisian hag – more than that Victoria's Secret diamond bra..."

"And who do you think will pay such a fantastic sum for me, I wonder? Gotham?"

"Nah," says Selina. "The League."

Bane's amusement is expelled in a noisy huff through the mask. "The League? You think you will convince the _League_ to pay you? If they leave you alive after what you have done, it would be an uncommonly generous reward."

"No," says Selina. "I think you'll convince them. Since it's your ass I saved."

"You were the cause of my failure," says Bane. "Of the League's failure."

"Maybe," says Selina. "But I got you out alive. Now you can go on to destroy more cities, or whatever it is you plan to do with the rest of your life…"

"But hey," continues Selina with a careless shrug. "If you say the League won't pay me, I'll happily sell you to Gotham instead. It won't make me big bucks, but I bet it buys me a pardon. Or twenty. I have a lot of unresolved convictions..."

She leans over and walks two fingers up Bane's chest, slowly, deliberately. "And you... they won't put you in Blackgate. They'll stick you in Arkham."

This last word is punctuated by her fingertip tapping knowingly on his mask.

"I had a stint in there, once," continues Selina. "To cure the kleptomania, you know. It wasn't a fun place. Lots of sick people, people way sicker than you. And everything glass and metal, and so much screaming, and the smell of people become animals… I don't think you're crazy enough to go there – but they'll think so. You did try to off 12 million people at once, after all, for offences that maybe five percent of them were guilty of..."

"So," says Selina, edging herself on top of Bane so she can see him properly. "Which will it be? You gonna send a message to the League to come and get you, or shall I truss you up and throw you back onto the bike? We can leave tonight."

Bane studies her in silence, one hand absently caressing her thigh.

"By now, the League is on its way," he says. "It is only a matter of time before they find me. And kill you."

"You won't let them kill me," says Selina.

"Won't I?" says Bane.

"No. You like me too much."

"Do I, indeed?" says Bane. "That seems like it would be a grave mistake."

"You wouldn't be the first to make it," says Selina. And she knows he has made it, too – his hand travelling possessively up her thigh tells that story without need for verbal confirmation from him.

"Anyway," says Selina, "you've had a hundred opportunities to kill me, and even more reasons to, and you haven't."

"Perhaps I am biding my time."

"Ah," says Selina. "Going for the long con? You're gonna kill me when I'm 85?"

Bane shrugs.

"Bullshit. You'll be dead by then anyway… I think. How old are you?"

"I do not know."

Not knowing one's own age. Now that is a strange concept. Selina studies Bane with fresh interest, because it's not a question she's really asked herself, either. Bane works so hard to be larger than life, beyond such petty mortal queries as his age… and it works, mostly.

"Hard to tell with the mask," she says. "Could be late thirties. Could be late forties. You could be a pervy seventy year old man for all I know."

Selina looks down at him and laughs at this final supposition.

"Yeah, no. Not with this body." She draws a fingertip along one of his traps. "This right here. So very biteable."

"By all means," says Bane, managing enough of a smile that it reaches his eyes. "Help yourself."

Despite the fatigue that marrs his tone, he sounds… eager.

Keep dreaming, big boy.

"I'm not quite hungry enough," says Selina, rolling off him. " _Yet_."


	21. Chapter 21

Night falls. Selina prepares for another foraging excursion (in the rain – ugh). She is just pulling on her boots when Bane motions to her.

"If I may make a request?"

"What?"

"A razor."

Selina raises an eyebrow and zips up her boot. "If you wanna off yourself, I can take care of it. All you have to do is ask."

Bane gives her a look of mild exasperation and retreats slowly under the tarp. He still moves like a man in significant pain. Selina observes him critically before turning away and tumbling down the ladder.

A razor. Weird. Bane's appearance is such a constant, unchangeable thing that it never really occurred to her that he shaves. But of course, he must shave his head. And his beard, if there's anything under the mask to shave?

Why does he have to go and be so human sometimes? It's easier to deal with him when he's a monster.

Selina snaps on her goggles and braves the rain to find them more foodstuffs, because now that he is eating again, Bane is eating a lot. And yes, she finds him a razor, because she's a nice person like that. And she steals an old blanket that smells vaguely like a shed, because it was in a shed, but it's better than nothing and its disappearance is unlikely to be noticed.

Having collected her precious supplies from the nearby homes of the innocent, Selina skeeters as quickly as she can back to the relative warmth and dryness of the barn.

Bane is leaning heavily against the barn door when she gets back, as though his descent from the hayloft was a tremendous effort. She almost bumps into him in the dark before his breathing alerts her of his presence.

"Wash," he grunts.

Selina slips him the razor and tosses him the sliver of soap. She watches him walk unsteadily to the pump and remove his clothing and back brace in the rain, slowly, painfully. Even in the darkness and rain, Selina can see that his body is mottled with bruising and smeared with the blackness of dried blood. No wonder he was stinky.

Selina leaves Bane to his rain-assisted ablutions, wondering, slightly guiltily, how many of those injuries she is responsible for. She clambers up the ladder to the hayloft in pensive silence.

Bane isn't a pussy about the rain and wet like Selina is; he is drenched when he returns to the hayloft, and shirtless, and doesn't seem to be feeling the unpleasant coolness of the night. Selina shudders just looking at him and nestles more deeply into her pilfered blanket. Its smell brings to mind lawnmowers and grass seed and sun.

"Saw you've got some nice new decorations," says Selina with a gesture to Bane's bruised torso when he joins her under the tarp.

Through the combined effects of the night, the black rain clouds, the barn roof, and the tarp, it is almost pitch-black, so Selina can only see enough to know that he turned to give her a look, which was probably a very dark look. She hears him lie down, slowly and painfully, on the floor next to her.

Selina does not offer to share her blanket. What is she, Mother Teresa? It's hard enough keeping this beast fed and watered, thank you very much.

"We should move soon," says Selina into the darkness. "Now that you're more mobile."

"And where do you plan on going?" asks Bane.

He's got her there; she doesn't have much of a plan except 'keep moving'.

"Somewhere where the League can track us, but no-one else can. You got a suggestion for me?"

Bane grunts unhelpfully.

"We'll just move, then," says Selina when no solutions are forthcoming from her camp-mate. "I don't like to stay in one place too long."

"Yes," says Bane. "You have rather… nomadic tendencies."

"Tendencies that have kept me safe so far," says Selina. It feels like the defensiveness in her voice is amplified by the darkness around them.

"It does not fatigue you, to be a perpetual vagrant?"

Selina shrugs, then realizes that he can't see her shrug. "I've never really had a place called home. If the alternative is better… I wouldn't know."

The regular pitter-patter of rain fills the long silence that follows.

VVVVV

Selina doesn't feel herself doze off, but knows she must have when a sound awakens her. Her eyes fly open. In the dark, she can make out the blackness of Bane's silhouette kneeling nearby, lifting the water bucket to his face and taking a long drink.

He pauses, probably having heard her breathing patterns change as she awoke.

As for Selina, she can't really hear Bane's breathing since the mask isn't there to filter it to an unnatural volume. It is a strange absence, and it is only now that she realizes to which point she uses his breathing as a barometer for his moods.

"Always so curious," says Bane. "Staring into the dark as though you could will it away..."

Selina blinks and looks down, because she was doing just that. Perhaps he guessed, perhaps he can see better in the dark than even she can...

"There is darkness here that no will in the world could brighten," says Bane.

Selina hears him clamber slowly to his feet.

"Come, then," says Bane. "You have one minute, and no more."

His voice is different without the mask – a little less rough, less inorganic...

Selina advances towards him, drawn by that curiosity which will probably be the end of her.

She can see nothing, of course – Bane has chosen his moment carefully, as he does with everything else. But she can feel, and that is what he is offering her – a rare privilege, she knows, and one which excites and terrifies all at once.

Selina bites her lip and comes in close, stretching tentative fingertips towards his face.

He is tall – she knows this, and yet still misses her mark slightly, and it is the side of his neck that she makes first contact with. His neck is familiar territory to her – the subject of quiet study in idle moments, how her whip would fit around it, if it ever came to that… the familiarity gives her the confidence to drag her fingers upwards towards the unknown places, the jawline usually encased in the mask which is now open to her exploring fingers. The lines of it are as she expected, solid and framing a strong chin.

Her fingers travel up his jaw and she finds an ear – an ear that feels normal, as does its twin on the other side. His nose is another story, definitely broken twice or thrice, and the skin of his face is – marred, somehow, though her fingers cannot translate what it means to her eyes.

For some reason, her heart is racing.

A vertical ridge along Bane's right cheekbone captures the attention of Selina's fingertips and she follows the raised and twisted line down to his lips. These surprise her by their softness, though they are bisected by the scar that tapers out at his chin. His mouth is closed, so Selina draws a finger along his bottom lip, trying to imagine what shape it would take if only she had a little bit of light.

He catches her fingertip lightly between his teeth, and Selina laughs and admits in a whisper that, okay, she believes him, he has teeth.

Her fingers travel to the long line indented into the skin of his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose where the mask usually rests. She brushes back and forth along this line, this boundary that divides the known from the unknown. She caresses scarred skin that does not know the warmth of sun, or the touch of rain, or the kiss of wind, and it strikes her as a sad thing.

Bane tilts his head down into her hands and Selina feels the whisper of a long sigh feather across her fingers. She wonders when he was last touched in this way. If he was ever touched in this way.

His breath reminds her that he is just a man. Just a man, but in this moment it is almost as though he is a stranger all over again. Selina knows the masked man well. That is Bane. But this one? He is new to her, this man revelling in her touch, bending willingly under her hands, breathing his hot unsteady breath against her palm.

He moves his large hand to cover hers where it rests on his cheek, as though to imprint there a memory of these soft touches. His mouth brushes the white-scarred skin of her inner wrist, accidentally she thinks, until he does it again.

Selina smiles a soft smile and is glad of the darkness that hides it.

She knows that her minute is almost up, that Bane must return to the tyranny of the mask in a moment.

And Selina is a thief. And she likes precious things, rare things.

So she steals a kiss from Bane. She wonders at her own daring as she does it, as she circles her arms around his neck and gets up on her tiptoes and hesitates for a split-second and then, finally, presses her lips to his.

Can you steal something that is willingly given? Selina does not have time to ponder the philosophy of the question – all she knows is that he doesn't let her break away, and all she feels is his hot mouth on hers, and all she can smell is wintergreen… he hoped she would do this, she knows that now, from the fervor with which he kisses her back. He wanted her to do this. He wants her.

He is strong despite his injuries. Selina learns this when his hand slips along the nape of her neck and his other grips her hip, two unyielding forces pressing her closer into him, so hard that she will most definitely bear marks of it come sunrise.

Selina is all giving angles and soft curves; she happily molds herself to him, a knee hooked high on his hip, arms entwined around his neck… and kiss chases kiss, until he decides to explore more of her while he can, and pulls her stolen t-shirt halfway off her shoulder, and presses a fierce trail of love-bites down the side of her neck and along her collarbone.

He has no finesse, no lover's touch; he is all aggression and intensity and want. His vaunted self-restraint is gone – now he is all demanding mouth and possessive hands. Selina brings his face back up to hers and slows him with long, languid kisses as they collapse together onto the floor.

Selina feels Bane's hands on her waist start to tremble, then shake, and then his iron grip fails, and she knows that the stolen moment has come to its end. Bane pushes her away and she hears the mask being dragged toward him along the floor and pulled back on.

He breathes heavily, greedily inhaling the analgesic that makes his life bearable. And Selina understands, really understands, for the first time, quite how sad that is.

Perhaps he lingered too long in her kisses, because it takes a long time for his breathing to normalize. Selina sits next to him in silence as he braces himself on all fours beside her, trying to still his trembling arms. _Trembling_ and _Bane_ are two words that have heretofore never come close to being associated together in Selina's experience. It is pitiful to see this strong, built, beast of a man reduced to this.

He collapses onto his back and Selina follows suit.

For a long time, only Bane's heavy breathing disturbs the stillness of the night.

"You must have known I was going to do that," says Selina eventually.

She hears Bane shift as he looks toward her.

"Perhaps," he says. His voice is familiar again, roughened and partially muffled by the mask. "Your curiosity makes you... predictable. As does your taste for rare things."

"Tasted like mint," says Selina. "I'd do it again."

"You are trying to kill me after all," says Bane.

Selina smirks into the dark. "It was a pretty long minute. Who was supposed to be counting?"

"Witch," says Bane.

"I prefer _troublesome creature_."

"You are both, and many things besides."

Selina smirks. You know, for a criminal boss raised in a prison, Bane can be pretty damn smooth.

She is startled out of her reflections by Bane pulling her flush against him and grinding up against her. She gasps a small gasp that is equal parts faux outrage and actual surprise.

"Oh my," says Selina, smiling a slow cat-smile. "Are you going to take the mask off again?"

Bane blows a defeated sigh through the mask. "To do so would be to flirt with disaster, I fear."

"But flirting with disaster is fun," says Selina. "I do it all the time, with you."

As though to demonstrate, Selina makes a show of wiggling into a more comfortable position against Bane. She knows exactly what she is doing, and he knows exactly what she is doing, and since neither of them raise an objection, well…

Bane's rough fingers tug impatiently at the front of her stolen jeans.

Selina bites her lip. Tonight, Bane gave her something that she's wanted for a long time. A glimpse – a tactile one, but a glimpse nonetheless – of his face. Perhaps she can give him something that he's wanted for a long time.

She isn't afraid of potential repercussions any more, not really. There is no real reason to keep him at arm's length now, no reason to be so deathly afraid. He cannot hurt her in his current state. He no longer has an army at his beck and call. He no longer owns her city.

And Selina knows that their story together is drawing to its end. Soon, the League will take him away. The path that they have shared together in the past year will bifurcate, and they will go their separate ways.

And they want each other, and, let's admit it, have done so for a long time. The things that kept them from each other – stubbornness and fear on the part of one, and prideful control on the part of the other – are no longer so crucially important, here in this dark hayloft.

Here in this hayloft where, right now, he is just a man, and she is just a woman.

Bane drags a hand down her hip and along her thigh. He is impatient now.

And Selina really can't think of a good reason _why not_.

So she slips out of her jeans and he almost rips off his trousers. Bane's hands are rough and his grip is possessive, and speaks of a long-held desire that he has curbed for many months out of his obsession with self-control. He flips her onto her stomach and his mask is also rough, and will probably leave marks where he presses it into the back of her neck.

"I don't think so," says Selina.

And they fight about who gets to be on top in the most pleasant ways possible, and Selina wins, of course. She is supple and yielding, but deceptively so, and she coaxes and twists and dances her way out from beneath him and assumes her rightful position, on top and in control. Bane disagrees at first, threatening to lift her bodily off him, but Selina is very well practiced in these matters and soon convinces him that it is in his best interests to let her do her thing.

Selina has done this many times before. Sex is her weapon and drug of choice, it is how she hooks men and keeps them at her service until they are no longer of use to her. But with this man, it is different. With this particular man, it is new and exhilarating to hear quickening breaths, to feel his grip on her hips tighten, to have him move beneath her to match the pace she sets, to know that in this moment she has him. He is hers. And she has won.


	22. Chapter 22

_Inspiration image: http://imgur.com/amegbBf  
_

VVVVV

It is still dark when Selina awakens – perhaps four or five in the morning. She stretches languorously and then grimaces at the feel of her grimy and sticky self, courtesy of the night's exertions.

With a growl, she works up the courage to get up and head to the pump to have a quick bathe. Bane is by all appearances profoundly asleep, on his back on the floor a little ways off. (They did not cuddle, afterwards – neither of them are the type.)

Selina swears creatively at the ice-cold water that gushes from the pump. She takes a pissy vow that this is the last time she's taking a crotch-freezing bath here – they're moving on. Bane is more or less mobile, and will be able to hold onto her for an eight hour stint on the Batpod. She will give him today to recuperate further and they will leave tonight.

Selina dries off using her precious blanket, pulls her clothing back on and returns to the hayloft.

As she climbs back up the ladder, Selina's sensitive nose catches an unfamiliar whiff. Something about the air has changed in the 15 minutes since she was last here.

Her eyes strain in the darkness. She can see Bane's form seated against the wall, the saggy lean-to of the tarp beside him. Nothing looks out of place, and yet… something is different.

"There's someone here," says Selina to Bane.

"Yes," says Bane.

Selina feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, because now she feels it, the presence – of several someones – somewhere above her, crouching in the barn's dusty rafters.

" _Do not kill her_ ," warns Bane's voice, heavy with threat. "Do not harm her."

There is a pneumatic hiss. Selina ducks and lets herself fall down the ladder in a controlled tumble. Something embeds itself in the wood where she was standing a second ago – a dart, she thinks, but she cannot see enough to know.

They can see her, though, that much is obvious from the accuracy of their aim. Selina lands on the floor and launches herself toward the camouflaged Batpod. She grabs her goggles and snaps on night vision mode, thereby evening out the playing field significantly.

There are three figures in the rafters, all quite acrobatic from the looks of them. Two of them raise weapons at her and fire again with that soft hiss. Selina dodges the two darts and vaults behind old bales of hay.

So, it looks like the League is here, and they're not going to indulge her with a nice long negotiation session. That's really too bad. For them.

There are two dull thuds as two of the men land on the barn floor.

Selina rolls out from behind the bales and onto the Batpod in one fluid motion. The machine growls to life and Selina tilts the bike toward the two figures glowing greenly at her through her goggles. There is no time for her usual banter here – she cannot take two members of the League on in hand-to-hand combat while another is shooting at her from above.

Selina has never claimed to be an honourable fighter. She guns them down with extreme prejudice.

The third man has disappeared from the rafters and is now nowhere to be seen. Of course, that means he's behind her. The bike is too bulky for her to pivot it in a 180 spin quickly enough to give him the same death as his colleagues. She pushes off the Batpod and hits the floor just as another two shots from the dart gun whizz by.

Selina hisses as one grazes her neck. Whatever the thing is drugged with, it's going to be potent, and even this small scratch could be enough to slow her down. She flies to a far corner of the barn, her run punctuated by the sound of darts barely missing her. Dodging is one of the many arts that Selina has perfected over a lifetime of getting shot at _a lot_ , and with a satisfied smile, she hears the man curse and reload.

It's not darts he's shooting at her when he resumes; he has a pistol equipped with a silencer.

So League-boy wants to play for keeps? Selina will play for keeps. She pulls out her whip.

Her vision has begun to blur at the edges – she is already feeling the dart's effects on her system.

" _No_ ," thunders Bane's voice from above as silenced shots hiss out. Selina hears him stomp his way to the edge of the loft.

The League agent flinches at Bane's tone and hesitates just enough for Selina to wrap her whip around the barrel of his pistol and snatch it away.

Her limbs feel heavy and the world seems to be moving slowly. Selina shakes her head, waiting for her opening to wrap the whip around the man's neck, that inevitable moment when, filled with rage, he will come at her with his arms wide open, and then she will end this last member of the League and revert to plan B…

Of course, there is a fourth member of the League of Shadows here. Selina is reminded of this when a dart embeds itself deeply in the side of her neck.

Bane.

Selina feels her face go numb almost immediately. Then her legs fail her – she collapses forward, stupid slow fingers grabbing at the dart in her neck and pulling it out. Distantly, Selina feels the rage of betrayal, and spits out some words of wrath towards Bane.

He catches her as she falls and she fights to focus on his blurry face, the mask, the smell of him…

"Such fire, such fire," she hears him say, as though his voice was far away and simultaneously right in her head. "I will regret you dearly..."

Selina manages to tell him to go to hell, and then the world fades to a comfortable, fuzzy blackness.

VVVVV

When Selina comes to, she is suffering from a throbbing headache and godawful cotton-mouth.

It takes her a moment to remember why she is angry – and then she remembers and pours out a vehement stream of curses on Bane, the League, dart guns, Bane…

It is around three in the afternoon based on the angles of the sunbeams slanting through the barn's gapped walls. Selina pushes herself upright with a groan and takes stock of her surroundings. She is tucked neatly into her blanket in a corner of the hayloft. The old bucket is within arm's reach, filled with water.

Bane is nowhere to be seen. Nor is the surviving League agent. Selina creeps to the edge of the hayloft and looks down: the bodies of the other League men are gone as well.

And so is the Batpod.

"Son of a bitch," spits Selina.

So he stole himself from the thief, in the end. Selina is certain that the irony of it amused him vastly.

Selina's anger subsides, because it is unproductive to rage uselessly at a man who is long gone by now, and who she will probably never see again. So Selina begins to think of her own next steps, now that Bane has fucked off and taken care of his.

She puts together her meagre possessions and makes her way to the nearest farmhouse. Without Bane, she is no longer really on the run. Selina adapts; now she is just one of thousands of survivors of the horrors of Gotham, looking for help.

And help is willingly given, of course, to this pretty young thing with the large brown eyes filled with fears and tears. And Selina is fed and watered and clothed, and offered a real bed in the guest room, and promised a ride to Gotham in the morning, to look for the rest of her family (hah).

Selina whiles away the dark hours before dawn by tossing and catching a cartridge of Bane's anaesthetic. She lifted it from him a few days ago, hoping to use it for leverage or blackmail if the time came when his stash ran out.

The amber liquid glints at her in the moonlight as it spins, and even through the plastic she detects a whiff of medicinal camphor and mint.

Selina is disappointed that she did not manage to convert Bane into cold hard cash as she had originally planned. But her original plan did not take into account the fact that the League would not be interested in negotiating, so it was kind of shot from the get-go. She should have surrendered him to the authorities from the start, perhaps. Had him locked up in Arkham for a little while. Then she could have sprung him, later, and seen where that would lead… someone would have paid for him, eventually.

Selina smiles ruefully to herself. Here she is, plotting away on the what-ifs, on the should-haves, on the future of a man that she will probably never see again.

There is a part of Selina that is actually surprised that he left her. She knows that he wanted her, and wanted her in many ways. When she was shot by the dart and her world faded to black, her expectation was to awaken in some dark cavern, some League HQ somewhere.

But no. He chose to leave her behind, alive and unharmed. She is certain that the thought must have crossed his mind, to take her with him. To cage her. To have her at his beck and call, to know exactly where she is at all times, to own her. His obsession with control would have made this a delicious fantasy, and one that he was very close to making into a reality.

Selina wonders if he struggled with it when she was unconscious in his arms. If he thought to carry her off, then thought better of it. Something happened to make him climb back up to the hayloft with her, and wrap her blanket around her, and have the strength to leave her there.

Perhaps he understood, finally, that her freedom makes her what she is. That a caged Selina would no longer be Selina.

She knows that she will be in his thoughts for a long time. Because yes, she bewitched him, kind of on purpose, and kind of not.

And he will be in her thoughts, but she will not allow herself to think about that. He tried to obliterate her city, he wants to own her, he owes her a million bucks that she'll never see again – she has excellent reasons to hate him.

So why doesn't she?

VVVVV

Selina returns to a Gotham which, in the few days since her departure, has already begun to heal. There is an influx of aid from all corners of the country and the globe, helping to rebuild the city and erase the damage caused by Bane. Ton after metric ton of refuse is removed from the streets, bodies are given the proper burial rites, buildings are rebuilt by companies other than Daggett Industries, the sick and injured are cared for...

Five months later, the state of emergency is officially lifted from Gotham, and the city begins to thrive again.

It almost feels like everything is back to normal when Selina click-clacks her way into her bank one morning, dressed up to the nines just because she can again, to pull some cash. The tellers lined up behind their desks look bored with their jobs, the janitor mopping the floor is going about the job grouchily, there is a toddler wrestling his mother, screaming for sweets…

Normal. Normal and boring. She can live with this for a little while.

At the ATM, Selina pulls out a few hundred to help pay for groceries for Judith and the girls that remain with her. The machine proffers the cash, then spits out the record of the transaction. Selina glances at the little piece of paper as she heads to the door, more out of habit than interest.

Her double-take causes the grumpy janitor to look at her curiously. Selina sweeps by him and tries not to let her eyes boggle out of her head. Because the line indicating the total funds in this account are far, far more than she knows she had in it…

As soon as she gets home, Selina opens her online banking for that particular account to investigate. It appears that, about a month ago, someone made a deposit for a truly exorbitant sum of money. And there is a secondary deposit on the same day for precisely one million US dollars – petty change compared to the first one, but the figure is familiar to her. It is a sum of money that she was owed by a certain someone.

"Well what do you know," says Selina.

She stares at the computer screen for a long time, waiting to blink and awaken from this peculiar dream.


	23. Chapter 23

  **Epilogue**

It wasn't a dream, of course. So Selina leaves behind her life of crime, more or less. Because now she has the money to do things, really good things, without needing to obtain funds through less than legal means. It's not necessarily as _fun_ , mind you, but a hell of a lot easier on her body and her lifespan.

The years that follow are bright years for Selina, perhaps the happiest of her life. The deceased Bruce Wayne makes headlines when it is discovered that he willed Wayne Manor to a school for orphaned boys. Selina is more discreet about her philanthropy, opening small shelters for strays, both of the human and animal sort, in an attempt to preserve the innocence in others that she never had the chance to preserve in herself.

Since Bruce Wayne's estate takes care of Gotham's orphaned boys, Selina begins to focus her efforts on girls, girls like herself, who were on the streets from a young age and quickly got in too deep to get back out again. She opens homes and schools for them, first in Gotham, then abroad as she begins to understand the power and influence that comes with serious cash.

She hires Judith full-time to help her with these things; the hag's hard edges have softened considerably since the old days, and she is loved and revered by the girls, despite her sometimes brusque manners and unkind tongue. Selina hires teachers to give the girls an education, not only academic but also in the things that Selina deems important; self-defense, athleticism, useful real-world skills of various sorts…

Sometimes, Selina remembers Bane. The smell of mint or wintergreen unexpected always sets her heart racing with anxiety and something else that she can't quite place (and doesn't want to anyway). The last vial of his anaesthetic she keeps in a drawer in her office, where its smell tickles her nose once in a while, on rainy days especially.

The city – and the country – remember Bane for a long time. Tremendous amounts of money are wasted trying to find the man, once searchers realize that he does not number among the dead and that his body is nowhere to be found in the sewers. The searches are fruitless and over the years eventually they slow, and, finally, come to a stop. He is presumed dead, or otherwise so far away and so bereft of resources that he is no longer a threat to the city. Babies are born and grow with no recollection of Bane's near-cataclysm, and people begin to start looking forward instead of back.

VVVVV

And so Selina blinks and one day eight years have passed since she saved Gotham from Bane, and Bane from himself.

She is hard at work, making a newly-bought duplex feel more like a home for the 15 or so girls that will live there. They will be watched over by a handful of the girls (young women now) that she saved from the Black Spades so many years ago, who are now old enough to help her run the place and serve as mentors to the younger ones.

Her phone buzzes expectantly at her just as she is in the process of hanging a mirror in one of the bathrooms. It is Judith, who never calls just to chitchat, so Selina puts down the mirror and picks up.

"Yes?" says Selina.

A chorus of distant "Hi Selina"s cause her to hold the phone away from her ear with a grimace. Jesus, they're loud.

"Sorry," comes Judith's customary croak through the speaker. "The girls knew I was callin' you. You in the new place today?"

"Yeah," says Selina. "Unpacking – putting stuff together – hammering my fingers for fun. You know."

"You know we've hired people to do that, right?"

" _Yes_ , I know, thank you," says Selina. "Today I wanted to be alone."

"Alone? S'too bad for you," says Judith. "I'm sendin' a guy over. He replied to one of our ads about the training for the girls. Says he's an expert in hand-to-hand combat and a whole shitload of martial arts… whatcha call'em, jiu-jootsu, tay-quan-doh… I'm not good with them Chinese things."

Selina tries not to laugh at Judith's creative pronunciations. "What were his qualifications?"

"Didn't ask," says Judith. "I figured you'd put him through his paces. See if he's legit."

Selina shakes her head, but can't help the flicker of amusement that flits across her face. Depend on Judith to schedule a fist-fight for her on a Friday afternoon.

"I sent him over for five," says Judith. "That work?"

"I'll be here," says Selina, just barely stopping the mirror from crashing to the floor with her foot. "I'm hanging up now. I almost dropped the phone into the toilet."

Judith laughs her wheezy laugh. "Alright. He ain't a pretty boy, mind. Scarred-like. But he's built like a brick shithouse. You'll like him."

"I'm sure," says Selina, though her tone says the contrary. Whatever – she'll spar with the guy and decide whether or not to hire him depending on whether he lasts 30 seconds or five minutes.

She busies herself with unpacking more boxes of new stuff for the rest of the afternoon. It is heavy work, but she deliberately arranged to be by herself as she did it. Her moments of solitude and peace are few these days, since she officially became a do-gooder, with a foundation in her name, and actual staff, and all this white-collar stuff… it still blows her mind sometimes, her transformation from philanthropist thief to philanthropist billionaire. She knows who she has to thank for it; she thinks of it every time she spends his money.

Something about the conversation with Judith niggles at her a little, but she cannot place it. She pushes it from her mind and occupies herself with dragging furniture in place, filling cupboards with canned goods, making sure all the bathrooms have an adequate supply of toilet paper, stretching fresh new sheets on mattresses… and still her mind returns to the innocuous conversation, Judith's casual description of the guy, scarred-like, and built like a brick shithouse. And this self-proclaimed expertise in hand-to-hand and martial arts…

She knows that she's being silly. And yet, inexplicably, she also feels hopeful. And, more inexplicably, it feels like a thousand butterflies have taken residence in her tummy.

It isn't him. She's being stupid. It can't be.

Can it?

At precisely five o'clock, the doorbell rings.

VVVVV

**Fin**


End file.
